


two sets to one

by retts



Series: tennis almost rhymes with dick [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, One True Pairing, Tennis!AU, Ziam means never having to say sorry no happy ending here, happy endings all around, so much whining about the Australian heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 16:55:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retts/pseuds/retts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whatever. They play tennis, except for Niall who's Louis' physio. And there are cameos by actual tennis people. And Harry's still a minor, so. And Liam and Zayn are signed by Adidas. Together. Because they play Doubles, of course. They are all so gay, except for Niall again who really needs to get some. </p><p> </p><p>Romance and conflict in Melbourne Park. Bring on the heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	two sets to one

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how this reached 20K because this is literally the longest thing I've ever written, like, ever and I just went all dfjkdshfjdsfhsjdfhsdjfhjd because how the hell did 1k of Zayn/Liam tennis!au smut turn into _this?_ And the explicit smut's gone too, damn it. And it developed a semblance of plot and now there's Lou and Harry being all confusing and so much complaining about the heat and I love tennis, okay, but I know shit about the technical aspects about it so apologies in advance. Also, in the end, even if it's not written here, Andy wins in _my_ fic. So there. 
> 
> Lou and Nialler are probably around 22-23 in this, Liam and Zayn are turning 21, and Harry's 17 going on 18.

 

 

(0-0)

 

Louis Tomlinson wiped the sweat from his forehead and dribbled the ball once, twice, three times, paused, and again twice more. He tossed it high up, head tilting back to follow the trajectory, and then flinched away from the glare of the unforgiving sun. The ball bounced on top of his head before rolling away. His overlong fringe swept over his eyes.

Across the court, Niall burst out laughing. He wrapped an arm across his midsection and pointed his racquet at Louis. 'Oh god, you look so daft! I told you to cut that infestation you call hair before the tournament starts. It's too late now, you've become all superstitious.'

'Hair can't be an infestation, you wanker, don't insult my beautiful hair,' said Louis as he picked up the ball. He lobbed it above him and hit it across the court towards an unsuspecting Niall, who yelped and dove away just in time for the yellow blur to miss his groin. Louis grinned and stuck his tongue out at his physio.

'Oi you fucker!'

Louis ignored him and cupped a hand over his eyes and glanced up. The sky was a stretch of perfect, perfect blue. He tugged on the soggy collar of his shirt. 'Fuck, why is Australia so hot?'

Niall huffed and pulled out a ball from his pocket. 'Stop obsessing over the heat. I told you to play in Brisbane and do like Murray does but _nooooooo_ , you wanted to stay in abysmal London weather. Worst preparation for a Grand Slam ever.'

'Shut up, Niall. We came here a day early, didn't we?'

'No respect at all. Come on, then. Practice, practice, practice since you got the worst draw. Ferrer, Del Potro, and Djokovic? Fucking hell. Well, no Murray and Federer but let's aim for third round at least, eh?'

Louis shrugged and dragged his wristband across his forehead. He wanted to go far in the tournament, even win it because he bloody well could, but it was _sweltering_ , making it hard to care about anything else other than finding someplace cool to rest. 'Let's take a break, yeah?' Louis suggested, walking over to the net. His Nikes squeaked on the asphalt surface.

'Cowell is going to give you hell if he catches you slacking.'

'He's not here yet. Come on, Nialler, I'll buy you ice cream.'

Niall looked torn. 'Well – '

'And whatever else you want,' cajoled Louis with a sweet smile. He tapped his racquet on the net cord. 'Then we'll go see how the Dynamic Duo is doing.'

That clinched it. Liam was Niall's favourite. 'Fine,' he muttered as he took off his cap, 'but if Cowell asks, I'm telling him you dragged me away kicking and screaming.'

Louis rolled his eyes. 'He's still flying in, Ni. How's he going to know over the Pacific?' 

They grabbed their bags and tins of Slazenger balls and headed out of the practice court. Wozniacki waved at them from the other side. 'Done already, Tommo?' she asked, uncapping her water bottle, racquet pinned under one arm.

Louis grinned. 'My fair English skin can't handle this much sun, love!'

Wozniacki laughed prettily. 'You vain, vain person.'

'Say hi to McIlroy for Niall here, won't you?' Louis said with a smirk at his companion. Niall glared and elbowed him in the ribs, hissing, 'Tomlinson, you little shit!'

 

-

 

(15-0)

 

'You okay?' Liam asked with a worried frown, placing down two cans of Coke on the table. Zayn grabbed one, popped the tab, and drank half in one massive gulp.

Zayn slammed it back down and tilted his head back with a groan. 'Fuck, Li, why is Australia so bloody fucking hot?'

'I don't know, babe,' said Liam sympathetically, sipping his Coke much more slowly. He traced a finger through the condensation on the outside of the can.

Zayn opened his eyes and stared pathetically at the other boy. 'We've been here for a bloody month and we have two more weeks to go. This is _hell_.'

Liam made a commiserating sound in the back of his throat. In truth, he couldn't help but find Zayn ridiculously adorable like this. His constant bitching could try the patience of a saint but Liam was a special brand on his own. Not only did he handle Zayn's crankiness with apparent ease, he also rolled with the waves of Zayn's moods like a fish. Even Zayn's own mum chucked him at Liam whenever he got that dark look in his eyes.

Liam was momentarily distracted by the way Zayn's pretty eyelashes stuck together with drops of sweat; how red and plump Zayn's lips looked every time he bit down on them with his teeth. He was sprawled on his chair, arms hanging limply over the sides, the collar of his shirt unbuttoned and folded back to reveal collarbones gleaming with sweat. Liam licked his lips, not feeling guilty at all for enjoying the view when the other boy was obviously so miserable.

Liam felt the heat like any other person but he didn't think about it too much. Zayn, on the other hand, let every small thing affect him. His aggravation was a good thing on court, but off of it Liam had to get creative to keep his partner from combusting.

Liam rummaged through the bag at his feet and pulled out a clean face towel. 'Be right back,' said Liam. Zayn grunted, glaring bitterly at the table top.

A few minutes later Liam jogged back to their outside table. Zayn now had his arms crossed, a black look on his face. Liam shook his head fondly. He beckoned Zayn to his side with a crook of his fingers. Zayn scowled but scooted closer, his chair scraping against the ground. 'Close your eyes,' Liam told him and Zayn obeyed, lashes casting shadows on his sunburnt cheeks. _Too cute_ , thought Liam with a secret grin. He folded the now cool damp towel into a roll and placed it over Zayn's eyes. Zayn sighed. Liam's fingers skittered down to the other boy's shoulders and began pressing in gently, loosening the knots until Zayn was relaxed and boneless.

'You two are making a scene,' an amused voice said and Liam glanced up at Harry Styles who was sipping a smoothie, his curls trying to flee from the confines of his white cap.

'Keep your voice down,' said Liam, then twitched his lips in a smile. 'Been practising for your match tomorrow? It's against Carter Genis, yeah?'

Harry arched a brow. 'How'd you know? Wait, don't tell me; you follow the junior circuit too? You're one weird biscuit, Payne.' Harry nodded at a dozing Zayn. 'He being a pain in the arse again?'

'Shh, he'll hear you and I'll have to deal with it,' said Liam jokingly, his fingers softly trailing across Zayn's exposed neck, fingertips becoming moist from the perspiration on Zayn's skin. It was a shade darker than the already tan skin under his shirt.

'I have no idea how you put up with him. It must be love,' remarked Harry with a shake of his head. He punched Liam's shoulder gently. 'Are you coming to my match? I know it's not as exciting as a pro game, even a _Doubles_ one.'

The warm breeze ruffled Liam's hair and he pushed the brown half-curls back. He turned to face Harry, head tipped back to meet the younger boy's gaze. 'Modesty, Harry, really? Doesn't suit you. You're going to slaughter him, eh?'

Harry smirked and sucked noisily on his smoothie before answering. 'You know it, Liam.'

'Arrogant kid,' said Liam with a wide smile. 'Sit down for a while?'

'Nah, I gotta get back. Grimmy wants me to practise my serve, as if it isn't already perfect.'

Liam swatted at him. He made a show of rubbing his chin thoughtfully. 'Hadn't your serve let you down at the Wimbledon final?'

Harry scowled at him, tugging on the brim of his cap. 'What _ever_. I'll leave you here with your prickly Princess and your unsightly displays of affection. Seriously, you two share a hotel room. Use it. Ta.'

'Git!' Liam called after him and Harry responded with the two-fingered salute. Zayn murmured and shifted in his seat. Liam reached over and pushed the damp fringe from Zayn's forehead. Liam reckoned they could take the afternoon off since they'd been practising every day for the past four weeks. Besides, Zayn was likely to bite someone's head off if forced out into the sun again and he'd already argued with their coach this morning. Saint though he was, Liam couldn't handle another clash between Malik Jr and Malik Sr.

'LIAM!'

Liam jumped as a pair of arms wound around his neck and familiar blue eyes twinkled at him mischievously. Zayn straightened up with a curse, towel falling from his face. His sleepy befuddlement lasted for exactly five seconds before his gaze cleared and snapped to where Louis was draped over Liam's lap.

'You,' he growled angrily.

'Hiya, Zayn,' said Louis blithely.

Liam winced. 'You woke him up, Lou.'

Louis gasped, one hand covering his mouth. 'Oh no, did I disturb Sleeping Beauty's slumber?'

'The Beast, more like,' Niall commented as he dropped into the seat on Liam's other side. He was eating an ice cream sandwich. 'Hey Liam. What's up? Congratulations on winning Brisbane. I loved the look on the twins' faces.'

Liam grinned at Niall. 'Cheers, mate. So how come you're not at the courts right now?'

'Lou got distracted. You know how he is.'

'Yeah. How's his ankle by the way?'

'Pretty good. We'll see how it holds up during the tournament. Did well enough in Shanghai.'

'Liam!' Louis screeched desperately and nearly elbowed Liam in the mouth as he fought off Zayn who was trying to strangle him with the towel.

'Don't think you can get my boyfriend to save your skinny arse,' snapped Zayn.

People were staring like they usually did whenever Louis was around. Tomic passed by, bouncing a ball on the top of his racquet, and gave them a thumbs up and a drawling, 'Alright, mateys?'

'Bernard! Hey!' yelled Louis at the Australian's retreating back, craning his neck away from Zayn's grip. 'He's so fit, isn't he? I'd shag him in a heartbeat.'

'He's straight, Lou,' said Niall with a roll of his eyes. 'You'll have more luck with one of the French blokes. Or Raonic.'

'Well, he hasn't gone through the Louis Experience - _ow!_ Liaaaaaam!'

Liam sighed wearily, pushing Louis off his lap. 'Zayn, come on.'

With a glower, Zayn let go of Louis but not before hitting the other boy on the cheek with a flick of the towel.

Louis pouted and crawled over to sit beside Niall, who was watching the scene with a half-amused, half-bored look on his face. 'Whipped,' Louis told Zayn in a mock-whisper.

Zayn crossed his arms in an almighty sulk. 'Fuck off, Tomlinson.'

Liam rubbed the back of Zayn's neck soothingly. He shot Louis a chiding look. 'Don't be a dick, Lou. You woke him up.'

Louis held up his hands in surrender. 'Sorry, Li. Don't look at me with those eyes; I'll melt.' He swiped Liam's Coke and drank it, then scrunched his face, going, ‘Warm - _eugh_. Niall, let me have a bite of your sandwich.'

Zayn dropped his head on Liam's shoulder with a sigh. 'Alright?' asked Liam quietly.

'S'hot,' the other boy mumbled sullenly, eyes squinting against the brightness of the day.

'Let's head back to the hotel, yeah? I'll draw you a nice cold bath. We can stay in for the rest of the night, order takeaway, watch telly, turn the air conditioning down to winter levels. What do you reckon?'

A smile tugged at the corners of Zayn's lips. 'Sounds perfect. I'll get our bags.' Zayn raised his head and kissed Liam's cheek.

Louis cooed at them and made kissy faces, smacking his mouth to Niall's cheekbone ('Tommo! Get your germs away from me!'). 'You two are my favourite couple ever. More than Bella and Edward and definitely loads better than Ana and Christian Grey. ('Christ, Louis, you need to start reading decent books,' said Liam, appalled.) I wish I had my own Liam to take care of me. Zayn, can I borrow yours? Just for one night?'

Zayn threw him a glare and picked up their stuff from the floor. He conveniently clipped the back of Louis' head with the corner of his duffel as he straightened.

'You did that on purpose, Malik.'

Zayn stared at Louis. 'Yeah, so?'

Liam huffed in amusement and got up. 'Knock it off, both of you.' He ruffled Niall's hair. 'We'll be watching Harry's match tomorrow, wanna come? I know Lou's got the afternoon session at Rod Laver.'

Louis arched a curious brow. 'Harry who? Harry Potter?' He giggled at his own joke.

'You know Harry Styles?' Niall asked in awe, eyes going wide. He licked his chocolate-smeared lips. 'He's brilliant. He'll be massive someday.'

Liam nodded. 'Met him during Wimbledon last year. Poor kid was distraught after losing the Junior final. He's turning pro this year, after he turns eighteen.'

'Who's Harry Styles?' Louis asked out loud, scratching his cheek with a finger.

Zayn kicked at Louis' legs on his way past. 'Look him up, Louis. He's going to steal your limelight soon. Next big thing in British tennis now that Muzza's won a Grand Slam.'

'Cowell's here by tonight so I can definitely ditch Lou. Hey, Li, do you reckon Harry'll want a physio?' asked Niall excitedly, tugging on Liam's shirt and turning a deaf ear to Louis' indignant squawk.

'What's so great about this Styles kid anyway?' Louis grumbled, crossing his arms with a frown.

A smirk turned up Liam's lips. Maybe he should introduce Lou and Harry, that'd be a laugh. Either they were going to fall in love or try to kill each other. 'Come find us tomorrow, Louis. His game starts at 11.' He took his bag from Zayn and threaded their fingers together. 'Can we count on you lads to cheer us on Day 2? We've got the morning slot. Parker and Hinge.'

Niall nodded and fist-bumped Zayn. 'We'll be there wearing our "Zayn+Liam 4ever" shirts and making a lot of noise.'

Liam beamed.

 

-

 

(15-15)

 

Despite his big talk, Harry could feel the nerves coiling in his stomach as he bounced the ball with his racquet. He jumped on his feet restlessly, anticipation making his heart race. There weren’t a lot of people watching, not that he'd expected differently. Why watch the juniors when the top ranked pros were hitting balls in the big name courts?

His parents were sat up front with his coach, Nick Grimshaw, probably complaining about the temperature. His opponent was on the other side of the court, peeling a banana. He was a spotty kid with bleached blond hair and wearing an awful lime-green-shirt-and-yellow-shorts combo; Harry swore he'd hire a personal stylist once he became a professional. He and Genis had played each other a few times before and Harry knew he could take him.

'Harry!'

Harry's head snapped up at the familiar voice and his heart skipped a beat. Liam was suddenly there, waving at him, looking tall and gorgeous all lit up by the Australian sun. He wore a sleeveless blue shirt and a pair of tight jeans. Next to him, Zayn's face was nearly obscured by the hat pulled low over his forehead, hands in his pockets and posture slumped. Another casualty of the heat, Zayn. Harry lifted a hand in acknowledgment and ducked his head as he rummaged inside his bag to hide his grimace. He liked Zayn, honestly – the older boy was wicked cool. It just sucked that Liam and Zayn were attached at the navel because Harry still ached a bit whenever he saw them, even though he was mostly (92%) over his crush on Liam.

The umpire came out and called the players over. Harry and Genis shook hands, the coin was tossed, and Harry was to serve first. During the warm up, Harry couldn't help but notice how Liam was chatting with his parents as if they were old friends. Liam had a bizarre superpower with older people; they instantly warmed up to him as if he was their own kid, or the sort of boy parents wanted their daughters – or gay sons – to bring home. Liam apparently had two unique life skills: handling Zayn and charming adults.

Harry remembered the first time he'd properly met Liam and Zayn at Wimbledon last June. He'd known who they were, obviously. They were the new sweethearts of the Doubles world, stealing tournament trophies from the Bryan twins. Liam Payne and Zayn Malik were supposed to play Singles professionally, with the usual hype and disdain dogging their junior and early professional years as the latest crop of British talent, but they had decided to partner up instead, much to everyone's surprise. They clicked perfectly, though, and it was only a matter of time before they began steadily climbing up the ranks.

Harry had been initially attracted to Zayn, who was dark, gorgeous, and mysterious, but then he’d got to know both boys better as the tournament had progressed. Zayn turned out to be as complicated as boiling a tin of soup, but still profound and beautiful. Then Harry had discovered that Liam was literally the nicest guy in the planet; someone who would incessantly worry and take care of those around him, who had a breathtaking smile that crinkled the corners of those warm brown eyes of his, who was dynamic and dependable on court with a corking forehand (in counterpoint to Zayn’s intensity, cleverness, and blistering serve). Harry had fallen for Liam like the wall of Troy – only Liam was so _not_ available it wasn’t even remotely funny. That had probably been Harry’s first real heartbreak.

Harry was up by 4 games in the fourth set, the first and third sets under his belt. During the break, Harry drank greedily from his water and pressed the cool towel to his face. He saw Nick nod approvingly at him. Sat behind his parents, Liam was in an animated conversation with a blond-haired boy Harry didn't know. As Harry watched them, Zayn, who was eating a sandwich, tapped Liam's shoulder and Liam nibbled absently at the snack his partner offered him, all whilst gesturing wildly at the blond with his hands.

Harry looked away and let out a deep breath. The umpire said, 'Time,' and Harry went back on court, shoulders set.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry defeated Genis with a crosscourt stunner and they shook hands over the net. He drained the rest of his water, was given backhanded praise by his coach in the locker room, told Grimmy to shove off, had a quick shower, changed, and went outside to find his parents.

He was looking for them amongst the milling crowd, passing the gift shop, overcrowded cafeteria, buzzing practice courts, and finally took a short rest under the shade of a tree with five other Aussies huddled around an iPad. Harry scrubbed at his face with both hands, tired and annoyed, when someone tapped his shoulder. His face lit up when he saw Liam behind him with Zayn trying to hide in Liam's shadow. It was a rather hilarious sight.

'Alright, Zayn?' asked Harry, amused.

Zayn mustered an impressive smile-scowl-pout combo. 'Is being roasted alive a good thing?' he asked sarcastically. He kept swiping his wristband across the sweat dampening the hair at his temples.

Harry blinked innocently. 'Is it hot? I hadn't realised it was affecting _you_ , Zayn. Haven't heard you complain even _once_ , since you’re always so zen and what not.’

It was like poking an unpredictable dragon but Liam just laughed loudly and knocked his shoulder against the other boy's. Zayn huffed irritably but a ghost of a smile curved his lips.

'Sorry if some of us aren't used to so much sun,' Zayn retorted with just a tiny bite in his voice. 'Not all of us trained in _Spain_.'

'Spain had cold winters too,' protested Harry.

Liam leant towards Harry conspiratorially. 'Don't bother, Haz. Zayn loves to whinge. It's too cold, it's too hot, it's too dry, is there a spot on my face?' Liam did an absolutely horrendous job of mimicking Zayn's accent and Harry giggled. The Aussies were staring at Liam and Zayn, gaping in excited recognision, and Liam beamed at them when he caught their gaze.

'I resent you making me sound like some sort of high-maintenance twat,' said Zayn with a moue of unhappiness. ‘I’m not _Louis_.’

Liam poked him in one pink cheek. 'If the shoe fits, babe.' Zayn scoffed but there was obvious affection in the breadth of his smile.

And Harry felt a little niggle in his chest because Liam and Zayn were so perfect for each other. It was just a feeling a person got within five minutes spent in the boys' company. It was even more blatant when Zayn was in form, all playfulness and loud voice and wry humour. All Harry could do was let his eyes linger on the smooth curves of muscle on Liam's bare arms, the pink tinge of his skin from being outdoors most of the time, the short brown curls at his temples, the sweet bunching of his cheeks when he smiled – linger and then look away.

'Are we here to take the piss out of me or congratulate Harry on his first round win?' Zayn asked archly.

Liam smiled sheepishly and ruffled Harry’s hair. 'Right. You did great, Harry.'

'I double faulted twelve times!' Harry automatically replied because it was hard accepting praise from someone who actually meant it sincerely. ‘ _Twelve_ times. I was pants.’

'We all have our off serving days,' said Liam wisely.

Harry made a face. 'Not Zayn.'

'True,' Zayn muttered. Liam chuckled and ran fingers through his hair, mussing it slightly. He glanced up, hand shielding his face, and whistled.

'It really is scorching, isn't it?' Liam murmured, fanning himself with his other hand.

Zayn threw his hands up, grabbing Liam's wrist along the way. 'Now you say it. Git. Come on then, let's go buy something cold and then find Dad. He's been ringing you for the past hour.'

Liam's eyes widened. 'What? Why didn't you tell me the first time he phoned?' He glared suspiciously at his partner. 'Wait, is that why you took my mobile away this morning?'

'Duh,' said Zayn with a roll of his eyes. He reached up and swiped at the drops of perspiration on the tip of Liam's nose. 'You gotta relax, too, Liam. Don't think that, because of the heat, I haven't noticed you've been pushing yourself too much.'

'Ooh, Daddy Payne's getting scolded,' said Harry. 'Better listen to the Princess, Li.'

'But!' Liam's forehead scrunched up. 'Coach is going to kill us.'

'Leave him to me,' said Zayn dismissively. He glanced at Harry and lifted one shoulder. 'Good match. Watch your serve. Good luck next time. Later.'

Zayn, man of a few words.

Then they were off, Liam trying to steal his phone from Zayn's pocket and Zayn swatting at his hands. Harry watched them go wistfully, their forms obscured by noisy people passing in front of him now and then until he couldn't see them anymore. He roused himself out of his thoughts and was about to turn away to look for his parents again ( _Seriously, how hard was it to stay in one bloody place?_ Harry thought) when someone bumped into him from behind. 'Sorry,' muttered Harry automatically as he glanced over his shoulder.

At first he didn't even recognise the slender, blue-eyed boy in front of him, lips pulled in a smirk, thick hair combed back neatly. He wore a pale pink Nike shirt, zip-up collar opened at the throat. He was carrying a cup with a straw in one hand. 'No problem, it was an accident,' the boy said in his crisp English accent.

'Uh – ' Harry blinked, star struck.  

'Louis, there you are!' The blond came to a stop beside Louis – Louis Fucking Tomlinson, ranked 9th in the world – and snatched the cup from him. 'Finally, you took bloody ages to get my watermelon! Heeey, you're Harry Styles. Good match, mate. That last backhand was pretty ace,' the blond said in a rolling Irish accent that drew appreciative looks from passing women.

Harry blinked at the other boy; the one Liam had been talking to earlier. 'Er, thanks.' His gaze briefly flicked to Louis, who was watching him with a strange glint in his eye, and Harry coughed. 'So you were with Li earlier?'

'Yep, invited me to watch you play 'cause you're definitely someone to watch out for in future. Did you see them? We got separated after your match. Zayn was muttering something about living in the fridge in his hotel room for the rest of the tournament. Liam probably had to buy him that foul-tasting pink Gatorade he likes so much to calm him down.'

Harry laughed, eyebrows shooting up. 'Zayn's a lot more whiny than I gave him credit for. Liam should be knighted for the service he provides the realm.'

'Harry Styles, you're alright in my book.' The blond was grinning widely, revealing a mouthful of metal, and he stuck out a hand. 'I'm Niall Horan. I'm Louis' physio – but if you ever need one in your team, just ring me up, yeah?'

Shaking Niall's hand, Harry was about to respond when Louis let out an exaggerated groan and threw an arm round Niall's shoulders, jostling him enough that he choked on his drink. 'Nialler, you cheating bastard, you're going to leave me for this little kid?'

Little? Harry could probably fold him in half and not break a sweat. Bristling, he narrowed his eyes, squared his shoulders, and then faltered when Louis winked at him.

Niall rolled his eyes and took a noisy sip of his watermelon shake. 'Yeah, 'cause you pay me so well.'

'Of course I do! How can you accuse me of such a thing? I'm a very good employer, really,' Louis told Harry. He cocked an eyebrow and pulled Niall closer. 'Hey, I'm Louis, by the way.'

Harry smiled with his mouth closed. 'Harry Styles.'

'Charmed,' Louis said with a flutter of his eyelashes. 'So, _did_ you see the Dynamic Duo?'

'Uh, yeah, they were, like, literally just here a few minutes ago before they had to meet up with their coach. Liam was a bit hysterical, actually – Zayn hadn't told him about the missed calls for nearly an hour.'

Louis winced. 'Ooh. Malik's not someone you want to cross. Poor Liam. Niall?'

Niall ducked out of Louis' grip and pulled out his phone. 'On it.'

Harry frowned, bemused. 'Er, what's happening?'

Louis glanced at Harry. 'It's kind of their routine during big tournaments. They get into a row about Zayn and his dad not getting along and Zayn pissing off Malik deliberately and other complicated things – honestly it'd be for the best if they find a new coach; Yaser Malik's way too severe when it comes to his son – and Zayn spends the rest of the night apologising to Liam and Liam will ignore him. Niall and I will be there to referee, but mostly to eat their neglected food and watch telly.'

'Oh. Huh. And I thought my coach was bad.'

Louis snorted and pushed a hand through his glossy hair, clear blue eyes slanting a look at Harry. 'Haven't met mine yet.'

'Done,' Niall announced, putting his phone away, 'we've got Japanese takeaway for later. Better work up an appetite, Lou.'

An awkward silence fell over them as they stood under the shade, Harry and Louis staring at each other but pretending not to and Niall watching them with narrowed eyes. Harry had never actually come across Louis Tomlinson before, though he'd watched a lot of the other boy's matches on telly over the years. He was really, really good. There was a time when the British press expected him to win a Grand Slam ahead of Murray until the Scot finally wrestled one from Djokovic at the US Open last year. Then again, Louis had been sidelined for most of the season after twisting his ankle during the later stage of the French Open.

'Sooooooo nice match,' Louis drawled out, gesturing with his hand at Harry. 'Your serve's a bit off, however. You're dropping your arm too quickly.'

'Yeah?' Harry said with an edge in his voice that surprised him a little. He didn't mind people advising him about his game – he _was_ still learning – but something in Louis' tone rubbed him the wrong way.

Niall paused, looking between them warily, sensing the abrupt shift in the atmosphere.

'Yeah. S'why you double faulted loads of times.'

Harry lifted his chin and gave a hard smile. 'Well, your forehand could use a bit of work as well. The racquet head's facing down too much, forcing the ball wide instead of hitting down the line. Not a good habit for a top ranked player to have, innit?’

The smile slipped off of Louis' face. He regarded Harry coolly. 'I've been working on that, actually. And since we're on the subject of how to be a better tennis player, I hope you don't take it the wrong way when I say that you shouldn't rely on your groundstrokes all the time. Develop your drop shots and volleys a bit more; they could use the practise. You wouldn't want to have a limited shot selection when you turn pro. You'll never reach the top.'

'Louis!' Niall tugged on Louis' arm.

An angry flush spread on Harry's cheeks. His fists clenched and he took a step forward. 'Care to say that again?'

Louis shrugged negligently. Harry wanted to punch his smug, pretty face. He didn't like Louis at _all_ , the pillock.

It was Niall who broke the tension between them, loudly slurping his drink and then clearing his throat pointedly. ‘Hot today, yeah? Could definitely use some cold rain right now. I miss home.’

The casual weather drop seemed to flick on some switch inside of Louis and he gave Niall a dazzling smile that transformed his face from attractive to _fucking hell_. Harry couldn't help but stare a bit. Something tugged in his stomach because it was clearly _Niall's_ smile.

'Are you channeling your inner Zayn?' Louis nudged Niall.

'I think so,' said Niall slowly, eyebrows going up. 'It's a dark, dark mindset to be in.'

Louis chuckled and tousled Niall's blond hair. 'I reckon you're just running low on calories.'

'I want chips, Lou.'

'I keep feeding you junk food but you never gain weight,' Louis commented. 'You've got a gaping black hole for a stomach, don't you?'

Harry couldn't help snickering but quickly disguised it as a coughing fit. Niall slapped his back with a, 'Steady there, Harry.'

'Um, sorry?' It was a tiny redheaded Australian who'd spoken, standing to the side and staring at Louis with big eyes. She clutched a large tennis ball in her hands. 'C-Can I have your autograph? I think you're just brilliant!'

Louis beamed widely at her. 'Certainly! Tell me more good things about myself.'

Harry rolled his eyes so hard he nearly gave himself an injury but the girl just giggled. A few more people wandered over, iPhones raised to snap pictures.

'You're my favourite player.'

'No, really?'

'Yes! You're always so graceful on court but really tough at the same time.'

Louis smirked. 'Let me tell you a secret: I did ballet when I was a little boy. That's why I can stretch and slide so well.' He signed the toy with a flourish. 'Here you go, love.'

Harry turned away from the growing crowd and slid his hands into his pockets and nodded at Niall. 'I should go. It was great meeting you, Niall.'

Niall smiled. 'You too, mate. We should be headed out to the courts anyway. Louis definitely has to practise for later or it'll be his arse in trouble with his coach. Well. When isn't Louis driving Cowell mental? Oi Louis, Harry's off.'

Louis wriggled his fingers at him. 'Bye, Harry,' he said lazily, then went back to talking to the gaggle of fans that had flocked to his side. Niall shook his head and shrugged at the younger boy. 'You can come sit with us later if you're free, Styles.'

The offer was nice and tempting but – 'Maybe.'

With one last peek at Louis, Harry turned on his heel, feeling vaguely unsettled and a lot annoyed. Bugger Louis Tomlinson, anyway.

 

-

 

(30-15)

 

'Liam?'

The brown-haired boy looked up from his iPhone. 'Hmm?'

'Is Harry into guys or something?' asked Niall. He popped a crisp into his mouth.

Liam raised a brow, thumbs hovering over the screen. 'Why? Interested?'

It was a running joke between the four of them that it was only a matter of time before Niall would soon declare that 'sucking dick was the best thing ever' (Louis' exact words). Niall reached inside the packet of Lays and shrugged. 'He's cute but hasn't got boobs. Sort of a deal breaker.'

The corner of Liam's mouth turned up as his eyes slipped back down to the screen. 'So why're you asking, then?'

The bathroom door opened and Louis came out, drying his hair with a towel, and Niall smirked. Perfect.

'Just that he and Louis had massive sexual tension earlier. Lou might've jumped his bones if we weren't out in public,' said Niall innocently with a lick at his salty fingers.

This time the expression on Liam's face was genuinely intrigued as he glanced at Louis, who had paused at the mention of his name. 'Oh _really?_ '

Louis snorted and threw himself into the wide space between Liam and Zayn, cuddling into Liam's side and ignoring the glare Zayn sent his way. 'Who's attracted to that kid? Not me, that's for sure. I don't like him. He's very irritating.'

'Didn't look that way to me,' said Niall. He rolled over onto his stomach so he was staring up at the other three. He was lying on the floor in front of the telly, fingers picking at the crisps, a bottle of beer by his elbow. He was the only one who could drink tonight, or for the next two weeks, and Niall loved lording it over them. Liam hardly blinked an eye but Louis had been trying to steal a sip ever since they got back to the hotel room after his match. ('Please, Niall, I deserve it, don't I? Straight sets in fifty minutes!')

'You must've been looking wrong,' said Louis. 'No, Li, tap _that_ frog. Argh! Told you!'

Liam shoved him away. 'Shut up, Lou. Play on your own phone.' He glanced briefly at Niall. 'What were they doing?'

'Well, he and Harry were snapping at each other about their tennis. Should've heard Harry diss Lou's forehand! They were like – you know, when you're at the playground pulling the pigtails of the girl you fancy, like that.' Niall mimed tugging the hair of some invisible person. 'And they were staring at each other as if imagining what was underneath their clothes, it was embarrassing.'

'Sounds as if Harry got to you,' said Zayn from where he was exiled at the other end of the sofa. He was idly picking at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt.

Louis shifted so he was looking at Zayn. His hand was curled over Liam's knee. 'Yeah? Well, it isn't me Harry fancies anyway. Should've seen how he was staring at this person. Way too obvious, if you ask me.'

Niall tilted his head curiously when Zayn stiffened; he shot Louis one of his _looks_ that only Liam ever understood _._ Louis merely arched his eyebrows in reply. Liam ducked his head even further, a frown on his lips. _Okay, I'm missing something,_ thought Niall. The tension in the room was thick enough to trip on.

'He doesn’t – ’ Liam cut himself off. 'I mean.'

'What do you mean, then?' asked Zayn sharply. 'Do share your thoughts, please.'

'It's nothing,' said Liam, avoiding the other boy's gaze. It was like Louis wasn't even there anymore, looking back and forth at them with an uncertain frown on his face.

Zayn laughed humourlessly. 'You always say _nothing_ when there's always _something_ , Liam.'

Niall saw Liam swallow thickly. 'Leave it alone, Zayn.'

'Just fucking tell me already!' Zayn burst out, eyes flashing. He angled his body sideways, one knee digging into the sofa, his hand clenched around the armrest.

Liam slipped his mobile into his pocket and stood up abruptly, causing Louis to sag sideways at the lack of support. 'I'm knackered, lads,' he said loudly, face shuttered. 'I think I'll turn in early tonight. Big day tomorrow and all.'

'It's barely nine!' Louis protested even though it was a blatant fib on Liam's part. His eyes were wide. 'Stay, Liam. We'll order more sashimi.'

Liam shook his head. 'No, thank you. Goodnight, yeah?' He caught Zayn's eye for a second then left the room with a timid wave.

There was a very, very uncomfortable silence.

Louis cleared his throat. 'Zayn – '

'Going for a walk,' muttered Zayn, leaping to his feet. The door slammed loudly behind him.

Niall stared at Louis, mouth hanging open. 'Are they _actually_ fighting?' he asked fearfully.

Louis looked just as worried. 'I – yeah, I think so.'

It wasn't as if Liam and Zayn never argued, because that would have just been weird, but they forgave each other quickly, refusing to let the conflict drag on for hours, let alone days. Liam was always patient and sensible; bringing Zayn back from the edge of his moods, and Zayn would move heaven and earth to make it up to Liam whenever he fucked up. The best thing was that they were both forgiving by nature so no grudges lingered to rear its ugly head down the road.

Niall couldn't remember the last time Liam left Zayn when they were both still clearly upset over something, or that Zayn didn't chase after the other boy but went in the opposite direction instead.

'Should we go see if they're alright?'

Louis bit his bottom lip. 'We should let them sort it out first. Maybe tomorrow they'll be sickeningly lovey-dovey as always.'

Niall nodded. 'Right.' He scratched at the label on his beer. 'Lou? Who does Harry fancy?'

Louis leant his head back on the sofa so Niall couldn't see his expression. 'Liam. I saw it earlier, before I bumped into Harry on purpose. He had a look on his face, you know?'

'Oh.' He made a vague motion with his hand. 'Do you think Liam and Harry – '

'No,' Louis interrupted forcefully. Niall didn't want to finish the sentence anyway. It was unthinkable.

Niall studied the other boy as he took a gulp of his beer; the long line of him was stretched out on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. Even if he had been teasing Louis earlier, he knew his best friend inside and out. 'Sorry,' he said. 

'He wasn't that cute, anyway,' was all Louis had to say.

 

-

 

(30-30)

 

There was a knock on the door. Harry ignored it, lying face-down on the bed. His mobile buzzed and Harry let it vibrate beside his head until it hit his temple. He grumbled and turned the phone over. It was an unknown number. Harry opened the message.

_Open the door, Styles._

Eyebrows arching, Harry typed a quick reply.

_Who's this?_

_Louis Tomlinson. Open up._

Harry's eyebrows were now so high up they were in space. _Go away._

'Styles! Open the bloody door!' And it _was_ Tomlinson's voice. He rapped on the door again.

Harry groaned and pushed himself up, his muscles giving a twinge at the stretch. He slid off the bed, padded over to the door, and unhooked the latch. He cracked the door an inch and glared at the blue eyes on the other side. 'What. Do you want?'

Louis waved a six-pack at him. 'Want one?'

'I'm seventeen,' huffed Harry but pulled the door open wider. Louis wore a plain white tee and skinny jeans, his hair brushed back artfully. He flounced past Harry and settled down on the sofa.

'Where are your parents?' asked Louis with a tilt of his head.

'Went out for dinner.' Harry crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

Louis opened a can and took a long swig. 'So, are you feeling less like a failure yet?'

Harry gave the older boy an incredulous look. 'You're really a wanker, right? Seriously. Where'd you learn to be so sensitive, Tomlinson?'

Louis smiled. 'From Cowell, actually. He still asks me that question every time I lose. Here.' He tossed a can and Harry caught it, fingers curling round the slick container. With a small sigh, Harry popped the tab and sat down on the armchair across Louis.

Harry wasn't sure what to say. He looked at Louis warily. Their last conversation hadn't exactly been a good one.

'How'd you get my number?'

'From Liam. He wanted to see how you were but Zayn's in an epic strop at the moment.'

'Still on about the heat?' asked Harry.

Louis fixed him with an unreadable look. 'No. The two have been fighting lately. You wouldn't guess it just by looking at them, unless you know how they usually are. It's disturbing, if I'm to be honest.'

Harry swallowed his drink a little too fast and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Seriously? About what?'

'Niall and I have no idea.' Louis shrugged. 'It's better to leave those two alone for now. Anyway. How about you?'

Harry dropped his gaze to his feet and lifted one shoulder. 'I'm fine.' He wasn't, really. Round two loss. Last year he'd reached the fourth round. Harry felt terrible, his gut clenched tightly. Nick hadn't said much, just murmured a few encouraging words after in the locker room, then something about intensifying their French Open preparation. It had been Harry’s serve that let him down too.

'Right. Losing sucks, I know. It gets worse the longer you play.' Louis' voice was hushed and Harry peered at him inquiringly. 'I remember my junior years. There was a time I wanted to quit too. I'm a bit of a sore loser.’

That surprised Harry into looking up. Louis always seemed like such a gracious person in both victory and defeat. He only had good things to say about his opponents and rarely showed any spite even if he was clearly struggling. Louis was a flamboyant character, all smiles and jokes in whatever situation.

It was the reason why Harry had been startled by the older boy's hostility a few days ago, subtle though it was. Louis acted like such a friendly, happy go lucky guy most of the time.

'Really?'

Louis nodded solemnly. 'Yep. My publicist has a bugger of a time trying to make me seem like such a nice guy. Truthfully, I don't like a lot of people. It took ages before Zayn and I got along. He didn't like how I clung to Liam and he can be rather difficult, Zayn Malik.’

‘Understatement of the ages.’ Snorting, Harry sagged deeper in the armchair, kicking his legs out. 'I bet you did it on purpose.'

'Zayn's so easy to rile, I couldn't resist,' Louis chirped brightly. 'Besides, Liam's got great muscles. It's nice to cop a feel now and then.'

Heat flared on Harry's cheeks. 'I wouldn't know,' he muttered into his drink.

Louis smirked knowingly at him. 'Are you going to stay in Australia until the tournament's over?' he asked casually. Louis toed off his shoes and stretched out on the sofa. His shirt hiked up, revealing a sliver of taut stomach. Harry tore his eyes away, heart beating fast. The other boy was annoyingly _hot_ with his angular face, blue eyes, and cheekbones. His _hair_ – Harry was struck by the sudden itch to bury his fingers in the thick, shiny brown strands. He tipped back his head and gulped down a large mouthful of beer, tearing his gaze away.

'Hazza?' The nickname startled him. Only his friends called him that.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, feeling wrong-footed. 'Uh, yeah. My coach wants me to soak up the tennis.' Louis arched his spine and posed like a Playboy bunny. Heat pooled in Harry's belly and he cleared his throat. 'Make yourself comfortable, Louis. Go on.'

Louis grinned and stuck out his tongue. 'I could be here for a while. Make sure you don't slit your wrists or something.'

Harry scoffed, offended. 'I'm not delicate.'

'You were close to wrecking your racquet after you shanked that backhand in the second set. Not cool, mate.'

Harry opened his mouth to argue – he'd seen Louis dole out some racquet abuse in the past – but then blinked. 'You were at my match?'

The thought pleased him. A lot. Harry frowned at himself.

'Scoping out future opponents from the amateur ranks,' explained Louis with a spark in his eye, mouth curling tauntingly, 'finding out weaknesses and such. You can never be too prepared.’

'Then why are you here in _my_ room?’ asked Harry, annoyed, intrigued, and still stinging from his unexpected exit from the tournament. The insecurities were constantly in the back of his head, ready to rear up at any moment and whisper destruction into Harry’s ear - he was the second seed, for God's sake! Harry should’ve been better. His hands clenched tightly around his beer.

The older boy's eyes softened with understanding and Harry looked away, a lump in his throat.

'I'm being a good friend,' answered Louis.

'We are not friends. You were rude to me the other day,' Harry pointed out.

Louis shrugged and waved his hand in the air. 'It doesn't matter.'

The other boy was confusing. He was grinning at Harry as if they were long lost mates catching up on all the years they'd missed. Harry should tell Louis to leave and indulge in the sulk he'd been planning ever since he lost the match earlier to the unseeded Junior with the crooked nose and mustache. He'd driven his parents and coach away from his room for that very reason.

However, it was kind of nice having someone here with him. Harry studied Louis who pulled out his phone from his very tight trousers when it beeped, long slender fingers dancing across the screen. Despite being a massive arse, it was kind of nice that it was _Louis_ with him, a virtual stranger and secretly one of Harry's favourite players.

'What do you want to do tonight, Harry Styles?' asked Louis as he put his phone away. He beamed at the younger boy, head craned back to gaze at him.

Harry thought about it, his eyes drawn to the graceful stretch of exposed neck. He unconsciously dragged his tongue across his bottom lip.

 

-

 

(40-30)

 

'I didn't mean to sleep with him!' Louis insisted when the blond stared at him in disbelief.

Niall pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘How can you _not_ mean sex, Lou? Did your cock accidentally slip into his arse?’

‘Niall Horan, I am shocked, absolutely shocked, by such foul language,’ said Louis, pretending to be scandalised in hopes it would distract Niall into a pointless argument. So he and Harry Styles slept together. He didn’t understand why it was such a big deal.

A scowl tugged down the corners of Niall’s lips. ‘Don’t even try it, Louis.’

Pouting, Louis crossed his arms. ‘Why does it bother you that I had sex with him? Okay, he’s like, five years younger than I am, and he’s still technically a minor, but it was a _one_ night stand, Niall. Well – one night, but not just once, if you – never mind, not important how many times we did it and in what positions,’ said Louis hastily, lifting a placating hand to protect himself from the glare Niall was giving him. ‘Honestly, why is this bothering you? I had that thing with the French ball boy last year and you didn’t even care!’

Niall dragged a hand through his hair and gave Louis a pointed look. ‘Harry fancies Liam, remember? And you keep insisting you hate him.’

Louis' eyes went flat. 'As if I'd forget that, berk.'

'Then why did you fuck him?'

'It's not as if Harry and Liam are dating!' Louis snapped, fingers digging into the wooden tabletop. He matched Niall's glower with his own. 'Look, it was Harry's idea in the first place, yeah? For one night, Niall; the kid was feeling horrible enough as it was.'

Niall crossed his arms and sighed. The way his shoulders slumped told Louis the worst of it was over. The other boy couldn't stay mad at anyone for long, especially not Louis; Niall was made for smiles and exuberance. Louis cocked his head sideways, widened his eyes, and offered a tiny smile.

'Arse,' the blind muttered affectionately. He reached over and placed a hand on top of Louis'. 'Don't want you to get hurt, Lou.'

'I won't,' said Louis confidently.

'I've seen how you look at him,' said Niall. He reached for the salt shaker and dashed the plate of chips with a generous coating. 'And yeah, I see how he looks at Liam now, but,' he paused to bite into a chip, 'I also see how he looks at you.'

Louis' ignored the way his heart tripped at his best friend's words. He knew what he saw but sometimes it was good having outside input. 'Oh yeah? We've got a nice complicated love triangle then, haven't we? If only I could muster some interest for Zayn.' He stroked his jaw thoughtfully. 'Well, for the record, the wanker does have a stunning face.'

Niall pointed the half-eaten chip at him, the end dipped in ketchup. 'Louis, I swear if you say anything tonight and – and rock the boat, I will twist your ankle myself.'

'Rock the boat?' Louis lifted an eyebrow. 'Really, Horan?'

'You know what I mean, Lou. Tonight's going to be a nice, relaxing get-together with mates.'

'Mothering doesn't suit you, babe.' Louis' eyes drifted behind Niall and he gave a short laugh under his breath. 'Well, the nice, relaxing night you want is not going to happen now. Liam and Zayn are here – and they brought Harry with them. From the look on Zayn's face, he is not happy about it.'

Niall whipped around on his chair. 'Jesus, he looks ready to throttle someone. Come on, Lou, switch seats with me.' His voice went up a register when he cried, 'Hey! Liam! Zayn! And Harry! What's up?'

'Not cool,' Louis mumbled and then lit up with a blinding grin and a nonchalant ‘Hiya, lads,’ despite the weight dropping in his stomach. His eyes flickered across the three boys. Zayn was stood slightly apart from the other two, face stony. Louis had no idea what was going on with Liam and Zayn recently, and his earlier hope that they'd patch things up had been torn to pieces two days ago when they'd pretty much nearly thrown away their first match of the Australian Open. Fortunately, they had recovered enough to advance to the next round, and they must have come to an understanding because they started winning as comprehensively as expected of them, but in private they were distant and quiet. It was profoundly strange to witness.

Liam smiled apologetically. 'Sorry we're late. I had to convince Harry to come with us when we found him wandering the streets with a dazed, lost look on his face. What were we to do?'

Harry elbowed Liam in the ribs. 'You promised to let me drink, yeah?'

'Cranberry juice,' said Liam with a smirk.

'You said booze!' Harry protested. He smacked Liam’s arm. ‘Booze!’

Zayn dropped into the empty seat next to Niall with a curt nod. 'Hey.'

'Hey,' said Niall and pushed the plate closer to Zayn. 'Chips?'

'Cheers,' the younger boy said unenthusiastically, grabbing a few pieces and biting savagely into them.

Liam and Harry sat down. Louis tried not to notice how Harry kept glancing at Liam, one corner of his mouth lifted in an adoring smile. The faintest colour bloomed on Harry's cheeks when he caught Louis' gaze and he inclined his head in greeting.

'Hi,' the curly-haired boy said softly. A small, shy smile curled his lips. 'Hey, Lou.'

'Hi babe,' said Louis in a loud voice, startling Harry and making Liam turn to him with a delighted grin.

'Haz told me you went to see him yesterday, Lou,' said Liam with a grateful smile, as if Harry was somehow his personal responsibility. Louis loved Liam's big heart but sometimes he could hate it too. He stomped on the urge to haul Harry to his side and remind Liam that his boyfriend was sat right _there_ , blatantly pissed off.

Then he wanted to punch Harry in the face when Harry kept beaming at Liam like he was the best thing in the world.

Louis clutched at his pint and took a fortifying drink.

The rest of the night pretty much went as Louis expected. Niall and Liam kept up a stream of chatter, trying valiantly to ignore the tension hanging over them. Zayn barely said anything and kept his eyes down, hunched in his chair and playing with one of the beer mats. Harry joined in the conversation a few times, stealing peeks at Liam, and then shooting Louis dark, hot looks. It drove him mad with irritation and made him almost as silent as Zayn at times and then boisterous during others.

 _Harry was just a one night stand,_ Louis reminded himself firmly _. You don't want to sleep with him again, with his long, lean body, perfect skin, tight arse, and vivid green eyes that looked like burnt jade when turned on –_

Liam was murmuring something to Zayn, a vaguely pleading look on his face, and Zayn stared back at him with unreadable eyes before nodding. Liam made some excuse and they both got up, a small gap between their bodies, and disappeared behind the crowd of rowdy Australians that passed by.

Harry had his mobile out. 'I'll be back too, guys. Mum's ringing me.' He stuck a finger in his other ear and said, 'Hullo?'

Niall bit his lip when Harry left. 'Is this the most awkward situation you've ever been in?' He paused. 'Hang on, don't answer that: the Brazilian footballer twins. Never mind.'

Louis played with the dregs at the bottom of his pint (the one and only pint Niall allowed him to have; as if Louis was going to listen to him) and shrugged.

'Do you think Liam's really cheating on Zayn? I mean, it's a terrible thought, but with the way they're acting and – Lou, you'd know, right?' asked Niall apprehensively. 'You spent time with Harry yesterday. Did he say anything?'

Louis shook his head, unwilling to deliberately think about last night, especially since he'd been doing his best to push the memories to the back of his mind. 'Nope, sorry. I only fucked him, not asked if he's in love with one of my best mates.'

Niall gaped at him and groaned, covering his eyes with a palm. 'You're jealous! Good god, I knew it! Louis!'

'I am not jealous because that would imply I feel something for Styles. He's nothing to me.' But Louis still looked over his shoulder to make certain Harry wasn't there to overhear him.

Niall slapped his hand down on the table. 'You are in denial, mate. This is some mess, Lou. Here, give me the rest of your pint.'

'I guess it's my round, then,' Louis said sarcastically as Niall snatched his beer and tossed it back like the Irishman he was.

Niall waved him to the bar and Louis made his way over, hands in his pockets. As he waited to be served, Louis definitely was _not_ searching for Harry's tall form in the busy pub. He'd been coming here for years, every time Louis was in Melbourne Park. His racquet, as well as a bunch of other players', was hanging on the wall above the bar with his name etched in the brass plate underneath it. The bartender took his order and Louis shuffled to the side when a pair of sloshed men stumbled to the counter. They apologised profusely in Japanese, recognised Louis, and apologised again in broken English. Louis grinned and signed the napkin they slid across the countertop at him before tucking it into the shirt pocket of the cuter one with the hairdo that screamed "I'm a businessman".

He glanced at his watch and checked his messages as the bartender lined his drinks in front of him. Louis was pulling out the Australian dollars from his wallet when he heard it.

'Why won't you just tell me, Li?'

Louis glanced sideways, shuffled even more to the corner of the bar, and found Liam and Zayn in deep conversation in a relatively private nook. Louis signalled the bartender with a wriggle of his fingers. The bloke looked bemused but came over. Rolling his eyes, Louis paid him, said, 'Would you mind terribly staying there for a moment, great, brilliant,' grabbed his pint, and took a casual sip while pretending to chat up the bartender as he kept an eye and ear trained on the argument a few feet away. He ought not to have bothered; Zayn and Liam were utterly oblivious to everything else around them.

Liam wrung his hands. 'I can't, Zayn. You have to understand, it's nothing, alright?'

Zayn caught one of Liam's wrists. 'You're lying to me, Liam.'

'Zayn – '

'I know he said something to you. I'm absolutely daft for noticing just now but I _am_ noticing, Li, and,' Zayn shook his head and the look on his face was so intense even Louis held his breath for a moment, 'I don't want to lose you. If this thing with you and – love, please. I don't understand why you won’t just tell me.'

Liam reached out and grasped Zayn's face. 'I'm sorry,' was all he said and it obviously wasn't what Zayn wanted to hear because he growled and fisted a hand in Liam's shirt. Louis' tensed, wondering if Zayn was actually going to punch Liam -

But no, Zayn just gave him a short, frustrated kiss before pushing away. Liam blinked hopelessly and went after him, shouting, 'Zayn, come back!'

Louis ducked his head when they passed him, his mind going over what he'd heard.

It didn't make sense if it was about Liam and Harry having an affair – especially considering Liam's personality. Liam had morals and had been in love with Zayn since they were fifteen years old (Louis had pried the full story out of a tipsy Liam a few nights after they met, with Zayn smiling giddily and molesting his boyfriend’s neck the entire time; Louis had to admit it would make a great made-for-television film for the Beeb).

The bartender flagged him down. 'Hey, mate, don't forget your pints.'

Louis nodded in thanks and grabbed them off the counter, walking back to his table. Niall was gone but Harry was back, fumbling with his mobile with a little frown. _Fucking adorable_ , Louis couldn't help thinking. 

'Problem?' asked Louis mildly, setting down the glasses and shoving one towards Harry.

Harry made a face. 'My coach. Grimmy's asking why I'm not at the hotel. He's always been clingy, the git.'

'... _Ah_.'

'It's not like that,' Harry said hurriedly, obviously hearing something in Louis' tone that Louis hadn't meant to put there ( _damn it_ ); green eyes stared into blue. 'He's like an older brother, you know. Great tennis tactician, awful player. He used to train with Nadal but gave up halfway. Now he's coaching me because he says we're one spirit in two bodies or some crap.'

Louis shrugged lazily. 'I don't really care if you're shagging your coach, Haz.'

Dark eyebrows slanted down. 'I'm not, though,' Harry reiterated, bewildered.

Louis wasn't listening. There was a strange rushing in his ears as he sipped his beer. Liam might never do something as stupid as cheat, but someone could definitely try and entice him. He thought about how Harry constantly smiled and touched Liam. Something growled in his chest, like jealousy and hurt and anger – because nobody messed with his best mates. Nobody messed with him.

'Lou?'

'Listen,' Louis said suddenly, eyes hooking into Harry. 'Can you back off?'

Harry frowned. He put away his mobile. 'What?'

Louis flicked his wrist at the younger boy. 'Don't play dumb, Harry. You can't get between them, alright? Liam and Zayn are soulmates, yeah, and I don’t even _believe_ in soulmates. You're fit but you don't stand a chance. Stop messing with Liam.'

Harry had gone very still, his eyes huge and stunned in his pale face. His lower lip trembled and suddenly Harry thumped the table with his fist, rattling their pints.

'How dare you,' Harry said in a low, furious voice. He shook his head and pushed back the curls from his face. 'I would never, _ever_ – ' He took a deep breath and glared at Louis with green eyes that glittered with angry tears. 'They're my friends and yeah, I might fancy Liam, but I've never once tried to do anything about it. I'm not stupid, whatever you might think, Louis Tomlinson. And who are you to tell me off, anyway? You're no one. We're not mates. You're just a – a – a _slut_ who jumps from one bed to the other.'

Louis' knuckles turned white where they clamped around his glass. 'Excuse me?' he demanded.

Harry raised his chin, grasped the edge of the table, and leant forward. 'Yeah, you heard me. I know your reputation, Tommo. An easy fuck. No strings, just a goodbye in the morning, maybe even one more blowjob for the road.'

Louis bared his teeth at the younger boy. 'You don't know me so shut the fuck up, Styles.'

'You don't know me either.' Harry jumped to his feet and sneered down at Louis; it wasn't a good fit on his face as if the muscles weren't used to such an ugly expression. 'You know what, fuck you, Tomlinson.'

Louis gave him a nasty smile, his heart squeezing painfully. 'Done that, forgot about it already.'

Harry's jaw clenched and he spun around, stomping out of the pub, shoving at the people in his way. Louis bit down harshly on his thumb, absolutely livid, and knocked back his pint in long, breathless swallows. When he slammed the empty glass on the table, his throat was burning, his stomach in knots that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Niall was back in his seat, staring at Louis with an impressed grin. Louis reached for Zayn's neglected drink.

'Whoa, careful, I said you could only have one,' Niall teased. Then the gaiety slid from his face when he took in Louis’ defeated posture. ‘Louis – ’

'What's the point of a nice evening out if I'm sober? No match tomorrow. The world is my oyster tonight, Nialler.'

After a measuring look in Louis' direction, Niall sighed and clinked their glasses together. 'You get to explain to Cowell why you're hungover tomorrow, yeah?'

'Deal.'

'Right, where are the others?'

'Buggered off,' Louis muttered darkly. He didn't want to think about Harry, Liam, or Zayn right now. They could handle themselves for tonight. He snagged Niall by his jacket sleeve and dragged him close, snuggling into the familiar warmth of the other boy. The queasy feeling in his stomach lessened a bit.

Niall petted his hair and wondered aloud, 'How many drinks do you reckon it takes for an Irishman and an Englishman to get along? Do we need a Scot with us? Murray?’

Louis snorted and rested his head on the blond's shoulder. His throat was tight with tears. 'You're brilliant, Nialler. I love you, mate. You're the only one who cares about me.'

'Straight into maudlin Louis, huh?' Niall sighed. 'I'm not going to ask just yet, yeah? I make no promises tomorrow, however.'

'Good man,' murmured Louis. His eyes closed. He leant into his best friend's comforting touch and ignored everything else in the world for the moment.

 

-

 

(40-40)

 

Zayn hadn't really been into tennis in the beginning. It was his father's dream he was playing out. Yaser Malik was in the same league as Tim Henman, only he never reached that far after the damage to his elbow made sure he would never play competitively again. So it was Zayn who was forced to go to the courts, hitting hundreds of balls for hours on end, every single day, from the moment he'd been old enough to grip a racquet (five years old).

He didn't mind at first, but eventually he grew older and began to want to do other things – art, music, English. Tennis was fun but not everything. (His father still hasn't forgiven Zayn for saying that when he’d been thirteen.)

And Zayn did stop for a while, thanks to his mum who kept his father at bay. He drew, sang, read and wrote. Sometimes he played tennis to keep fit. He was fourteen, his future in tennis was still uncertain, and he was alright with it.

Then Zayn met Liam.

Met properly, that is, since they'd been playing against each other for years in junior tournaments. Zayn had always liked competing with the other boy, who never sulked or cursed or slapped his hand away for the obligatory 'sorry you lost' handshake. Once or twice they'd even talked, but Yaser always dragged Zayn away immediately, telling him to stop wasting time he could spend improving his backhand (or his forehand, or his serve, or his footwork, or his entire attitude).

But that afternoon his dad wasn't around to bark at him. Zayn was by himself, enjoying the thwack of tense strings as he volleyed against the wall. He swung and the ball bounced off the racquet frame, shooting to the sky.

 _'Ouch_.'

Zayn spun around. Liam was stood there, rubbing his forehead. 'Sorry, sorry, sorry,' Zayn apologised, chewing on his lower lip guiltily; those big brown eyes made him feel like he'd hit the boy on purpose.

Liam eyed him thoughtfully for a second and then broke into a huge, face-splitting grin. 'Just kidding!'

Zayn blinked, confused. 'Um.' He narrowed his eyes. 'You prat!'

The other boy giggled. 'I couldn't resist. You looked so serious.'

'So you thought you'd make fun of me?'

'Yup.'

'You prat,' repeated Zayn around the smile twitching his lips.

With a shrug, Liam propped his racquet over a shoulder and smiled warmly. 'Hey, you want to play?'

Zayn looked behind him, for a second expecting Yaser to materliase and tell him off. Then he realised he was being stupid. His smile widened. 'Sure. First to get a set?'

'Bring it on, Malik.'

Despite the challenging words, the rest of the afternoon was mostly spent taunting each other and laughing hysterically, missing shots on purpose and then making a point of shanking worse than the other boy. Zayn couldn't remember the last time he had so much fun.

When his mum came to pick him up, Zayn and Liam were both red-faced and puffing, leaning over the net, talking in loud voices (they'd been shushed more than once and Liam had promptly obeyed, but Zayn found it hilarious trying to get him to make as much noise as possible). Zayn was throwing a ball at Liam when his mum said, 'Zayn,' from where she waited at the baseline and he straightened automatically.

'Mum!' he squeaked.

Liam snickered behind his palm. Zayn shot him a 'shut up' look. His mother came up to them, appearing amused about something.

With a smile, Liam stuck out a hand and introduced himself. 'Hello. I'm Liam Payne. It's nice to meet you, Mrs Malik.'

Zayn could practically see his mother melting. 'It's good to meet you as well, dear. Are you competing next week at that event in Scotland?'

Liam nodded. 'Yes. I'm taking a few weeks off from school. Well, I won't be _in_ school but I still have to do my homework.'

Zayn could feel the disappoinent dropping heavily in his stomach. He'd thought about maybe coming over to the club more often to hang out with Liam. He'd forgotten that the other boy would be travelling to join tournaments. His thoughts went downhill from there (maybe this was a one time thing, maybe Liam was just bored today, maybe Liam wouldn't want to spend time with him anyway).

'Good luck, then, Liam,' Tricia was saying, a hand on Zayn’s shoulder. 'Zayn's on a break from tennis right now.'

Liam looked at Zayn curiously. 'I know. I mean, I heard some of the other lads talking about it.' He shook his head quickly, like he'd said something wrong. 'Doesn't mean we can't still play, yeah? Besides, Zayn is the best one here. Well, aside from me, that is.' He gave Zayn a cheeky grin and Zayn couldn't help but return it, buoyed by Liam's unexpected words.

'I can beat you any time,' said Zayn confidently, puffing out his chest.

'We'll see after I get back from Scotland.'

A tall middle-aged man waved at Liam from the entrance to the club and Liam made a face. 'Sorry, my Uncle's calling me.'

'Later, mate,' said Zayn with a cool nod, as if he hadn’t been freaking out a second ago when he thought Liam might not want to see him again.

Liam smiled, said, 'Excuse me, I have to go,' to Zayn's Mum before sprinting towards his waiting uncle.

Tricia sighed. 'What a sweet boy, bless.'

Zayn tightened his hand around his racquet and took a few steps forward, shouting, ‘Oi! Liam!'

Liam glanced over his shoulder with a questioning look on his face. He brushed the curls from his eyes.

'Let's have a real match after you're done at Scotland!'

With a broad grin and a nod, Liam answered, 'Yeah, alright!' before disappearing inside the building.

Zayn's mum had a knowing smile on her face as they walked to the car park. Zayn lowered his eyes with a huff, grumbling, 'What?'

'Nothing. It's simply nice seeing you with a friend.'

'That's _not_ nothing,' said Zayn, just to be difficult, but his lips were quirking up. It was true that Zayn didn't have many friends, much too quiet and withdrawn and used to being by himself, but Liam was easy for some reason. Maybe it was because they were both on the same path, even if Zayn was dithering on the side of the road at the moment.

'If you say so, love.' Tricia wore an indulgent expression. It bothered Zayn.

'We might not even be friends,' Zayn insisted even if he wanted the exact opposite. ‘So. There.’

As it turned out, he and Liam did become friends. After winning in Scotland, Liam came back and found Zayn dribbling balls in a very bored manner. They didn't get to play then, or on any of the other times they met at the club; they talked instead. One day Zayn invited Liam to his house and soon they were spending all their free time together. Liam became a regular face at Zayn's house and Zayn felt completely at ease running up and down the stairs at Liam's.

And on a rare bright afternoon when Zayn didn't have singing lessons and Liam didn't have any tournaments, they found a spare court at the club (plenty of those) and with Liam's Uncle Paul playing umpire, they finally had that three-set match. It was much harder than just smacking balls at each other for fun. Liam had always been talented but Zayn found himself scrambling after a lot of the shots. A large part of it was because Zayn had stopped training seriously and it stirred something in his chest. When Liam won 6-2 6-3, Zayn was breathing hard and staring at the grass under his shoes.

Despite the loss, Zayn realised he had never enjoyed playing tennis more in his life.

Liam hugged him at the net, surprising Zayn who wasn't used to physical contact from people outside his family, even from this boy who was his best friend, but he didn't mind it as much as he expected and wrapped his arms around Liam in return.

'You're brilliant,' whispered Liam breathlessly into his ear, 'no matter what your dad says, yeah, Zayn?'

That was the moment, Zayn knew, when he started falling in love with the sport and the brown-eyed boy who'd held him so tightly that day.

He didn't say any of this to the interviewer, instead giving the generic answer of 'Yeah, it was my Dad who was the driving force, you know, and I love playing tennis, so. I'm lucky to be here and to have someone like my father guiding us.'

After a few more questions, Zayn was done and he hurried into the locker room. He spotted Liam on the sofa, drinking from a bottle of water, racquet laid across his lap.

Liam gave a tentative smile when he saw Zayn. 'Interview over?'

'Yeah. Dunno why Dad made us do separate ones.'

 _There_. Zayn had been waiting for that tightening of Liam's lips. He said nothing, though, not wanting to spark another argument. He missed Liam and how flawlessly they fit without all the words said and unsaid digging into their sides.

Liam shrugged and twisted the cap back on before dropping the bottle on the sofa. Zayn stopped in front of Liam and threaded his fingers through the other boy's hair, gripping the half-curls tightly and urging Liam to look up at him.

'I miss you,' Zayn said when their eyes locked together. 'I'm sorry we've been fighting.'

Liam's face instantly softened and he brought a hand up to wrap around one of Zayn's wrists, his thumb pressing firmly against his pulse. 'Me too,' he whispered.

They had a rule about displays of affection during tournaments and normally Zayn would obey it without thought, because being gay in the sporting world, even (and sometimes especially) in a sport as civilised and elegant as tennis, was tough. They've had their fair share of support and hate, but mostly it was fine. They didn't flaunt their relationship and after the initial shock wave had passed, the tennis world had begun to pay attention to their talent instead of their sexuality.

But they'd been out of sorts these past few days, sleeping far apart in bed instead of tangled up together, restraining the special language of touches and expressions they'd developed over the years, and just feeling stressed and angry and hurt.

Zayn gently tugged on the strands caught in his fists and a sweet smile appeared on Liam's face. Liam tilted his chin up and Zayn bent down and they both sighed at the same time when their lips touched. Zayn brushed his bottom lip against Liam's, tongue licking at the top one, and Liam opened his mouth obediently. Zayn shuffled forward, bent at the waist, feet spread wide for support. He nibbled at the corner of Liam's mouth before slipping his tongue inside, sweeping across teeth and palate, coiling around Liam's own. Growling low in his throat, Zayn pushed Liam back against the sofa, lost in the wet hungry glide of their mouths. Liam's fingers cupped Zayn's chin and behind his ear, and Liam angled his head back even more to deepen the kiss, making it messier and filthier.

Zayn missed this horribly: the feeling of Liam's hands on him, Liam's mouth devouring his, Liam's familiar scent of oranges making him dizzy.

When air became a necessity, Zayn had to break away, panting harshly, staring into Liam's blown pupils. He pressed their foreheads together and Liam laughed breathlessly.

'What?'

'It's just – it's the quarterfinals of the first Grand Slam of the year, and we've never reached this far here before, but all I want to do is bring you to our room and fuck you until you can't _move_ without remembering me inside of you for days. Remember Davies Cup 2011? Remember last year after we won the Olympics? God, Zayn, that had been a fantastic fuck.'

Zayn groaned and bit down on Liam's bottom lip. 'Damn it, Li, don't say things like that when I'm already hard. We're wearing very revealing shorts, for Christ's sake.'

Liam hummed, 'I know, sorry. We need to focus on the match. Then,' he tenderly stroked Zayn's cheek with a thumb, 'we'll talk, yeah?'

'After we shag,' Zayn corrected and Liam gifted him with a beautiful grin as he pulled away. Zayn couldn't help but kiss him again, short and sweet, and when they separated, and Zayn saw how red Liam's cheeks and mouth were, he felt all the anxiety, all the strain, leave his bones. 'Love you,' he said quietly, unclenching his fingers and smoothing them through soft brown hair.

'Love you too,' said Liam. They grinned at each other.

'It's a bit amazing that we still got to the quarterfinals when we've been fighting,' said Zayn thoughtfully. He flopped down next to Liam, grabbing the water bottle and drinking from it.

Liam smirked. 'We can probably win the whole thing now that we've made up.'

'Easy,' said Zayn with a flick of his wrist. 'Did you notice how Lou and Niall always looked scared whenever we so much as glared at each other? Kind of hilarious, in retrospect.'

'It's sweet, how worried they were for us. Besides, I think it was more to do with the fact that they had to put up with your cranky self for once.' Liam pinched Zayn's waist through his shirt.

'Oi, it didn't stop the temperature reaching, like, a thousand degrees just because we were fighting!'

'Seriously, love, we travel to hot places half of the time. The rest of it we are in countries that freeze our bollocks off.'

Zayn arched a brow. 'And?'

Liam shook his head and gripped Zayn's hand. 'You're just impossible, is all, and I love you a ridiculous amount.'

Zayn beamed, heart still skipping a beat after all these years. He would never get tired of it.

 

-

 

(A-40) (Set point #1)

 

'Love-30.'

(For the tenth time in five minutes, Harry glanced at his mobile. Still nothing. He bit his lip and turned his phone over in his hands. The crowd suddenly stirred to life, shouting and applauding, and Harry looked up.) 

Zayn and Liam tapped their fists together, grinning widely.

(He stopped the restless movement of his hands and tucked his phone into his pocket. Harry was here to watch his friends, not pine like some idiot as the seconds passed and his phone remained as silent as ever. Harry didn't even fancy Louis or anything. He was just a mate. Maybe not even that anymore.)

The ball whizzed in the air and caught the line and bounced away a second before Liam's racquet could reach it. The umpire said, '15-30.'

(But Harry recalled how nice Louis had been when Harry'd lost, how he'd chattered and made stupid jokes to try and make Harry laugh. How he’d made Harry shout in pleasure and need as Louis fucked him into the mattress; how Harry had done the same thing to the older boy.)

Zayn tossed the ball high for the serve, back arching gracefully.

(Why couldn't Harry like Louis, anyway? Maybe it was slightly weird because Louis was one of Liam's best friends, but there had been nothing between them except Harry's wishful thinking.)

Liam ran to the left side of the baseline to return with a short forehand.

(Harry looked at Liam and there was still the faintest flutter in his chest. Harry thought of Louis and he had to press a palm over his heart to keep it inside. He'd never been much of an honest person but even Harry had to reluctantly admit that perhaps he did like Louis a little. Just a tiny bit.)

A collective groan rose from the crowd as Zayn's volley went wide. Liam whispered something in his ear and Zayn nodded, wiping at the sweat dripping into his eyes. They bumped fists.

(Harry had messed it up, though, hadn't he? Calling Louis a slag to his face. Believing the rumours. He'd been intensely upset when Louis had warned him to stay away from Liam, as if Harry would ever try and break Liam and Zayn up. All he had thought of that night was how utterly lovely Louis was, too.)

'Advantage Haase-Sijsling. Set point.'

(His mobile buzzed. Harry hastily unlocked his phone and brought the message up. _hows the dynamic duo doin? niall btw_. Harry sternly told himself to stop feeling disappointed and pay _attention_ , because this was a big deal for Liam and Zayn. He raised his head to look at the scoreboard, feeling guilty for sitting in the players' box and not knowing even that. Zayn's sister let out a horrified gasp.)

Zayn's racquet missed the ball by inches but Liam sprinted after it from behind the baseline, both hands tight on the handle. The racquet caught the ball and Liam swung, throwing his whole body into the motion, and the ball bulleted down the line to the other side of the court, way too fast for their opponents to return.

'Deuce.'

Zayn turned to grin at Liam, fist raised in the air, but his lips opened in a noiseless cry instead and his racquet clattered to the ground when he saw Liam sprawled on his back, unconscious. The audience was on their feet, and the umpire jumped down from his perch, but Zayn reached Liam's side first. The colour drained from his face when he saw the blood trickling down Liam's temple.

'Fuck, fuck,' muttered Zayn in a voice pinched with panic. His fingers fluttered above the bleeding gash, his other hand gripping Liam's sweat-soaked shirt desperately. 'Liam, come on, babe, open your eyes. Liam, hey. Please wake up, Li. Oh god. He's _bleeding_.'

'I've called the medical team,' the umpire said in reply, dropping to his knees on Liam's other side. 'Did anyone see what happened?'

One of the lines people answered nervously. 'Fell over during that last shot. Struck the side of his head pretty hard.'

Zayn made a noise in the back of his throat. He was trembling.

'Payne, can you hear me? Payne? Malik, hey, hey, calm down. Easy now, come on. ’

The medical staff arrived, did a quick check on Liam who was still out, and carefully loaded Liam onto the stretcher. Zayn refused to let go of Liam's right hand – the left was a swollen mess. As they rushed down the tunnel, Zayn wasn't aware of anything other than the rise and fall of Liam's chest, staring at it and willing it to continue its reassuring rhythm. He barely acknowledged his father following beside him, cursing about lost opportunities, but Zayn didn't give a single _fuck_ that they'd just forfeited the entire tournament because just then Liam's eyelashes fluttered before opening halfway, brown eyes unfocused and dilated.

'Oh thank god,' Zayn sobbed as he clenched his sweaty fist around the other boy's. The ambulance waited outside the stadium and people were staring and pointing. Zayn ignored them all. 'Liam, Liam, can you hear me?'

Liam's lips shook, mumbling out a slurry 'Zayn?' and Zayn nodded, squeezing his hand, blinking back tears.

'Yeah, Li, you'll be alright,' Zayn told him hoarsely. His heart was going crazy, his lungs gasping for air; more out of terror than the physical exertion from the match Zayn could care less about.

'You'll be okay. I'm here, Li.'

(Harry raked a hand through his hair, turning in useless circles in the box, catching Doniya's wide-eyed gaze. The rest of the team had gone after the boys. His mobile buzzed and Harry had barely put it to his ear when Niall shouted, 'What the bloody hell happened? People are freaking out!'

Harry licked his lips. 'Liam, he,' Harry took a deep breath, shaken, 'he fell, I saw him slip and hit his head. Shit, Niall, they rushed him out of here. I think he was bleeding. Zayn went with him, and, and their coach. God, it happened so fast. I've never seen anyone tumble like that before.'

Niall swore and then suddenly it was Louis' grim voice in Harry's ear. 'Okay, nothing like a twisted ankle then. I'll try to ring Zayn. Did he bring his mobile? 'Course not, they were playing. Shit. Where are you now, Harry?'

'Still at Margaret.' Harry shook his head to clear it. His knuckles ached from gripping his mobile so hard.

'Come find us. Liam will be fine, yeah?')

 

-

 

(40-40)

 

By the time Liam was cleared to leave by the doctor, his head was throbbing something fierce. He'd already swallowed the painkillers the nurse had given him, but Liam could tell the headache was here to stay.

'You alright?' asked Yaser gruffly. He eyed Liam as Liam gingerly tugged on a clean tee. Liam wasn't wearing the hospital gown out of there.

Liam nodded then immediately regretted the action when his head pulsed. He gritted his teeth. 'Yeah. Just – head hurts.'

'That's what happens when you're concussed,' Yaser said sharply. 'You were reckless today, Liam. You're lucky to get away with a minor concussion and a sprained wrist. It could've have been a lot worse.'

Liam lowered his gaze. He knew what Yaser wasn’t saying. Liam had cost them the Australian Open. Cost _Zayn_. His stomach tightened and Liam swallowed the shame crawling up his throat. He should have been more careful. That last point had been important but not so much that Liam should have risked it the way he had.

'I didn't mean it, sir,' he mumbled, fingers of his right hand curled gently around the bandaged wrist of his left. Liam knew Yaser already disapproved of him and this was just another bullet in the man's ammunition.

Liam almost regretted his decision to tell Zayn everything –

Almost, but not quite, because they needed to talk about it, no matter how much it might hurt or enrage Zayn. Liam had already let it fester between them, caused a rift in the past few days. It was no one's fault, really, not even Yaser Malik's, in the end.

Yaser frowned. 'I'll wait for you outside. I'm sure your parents want an update on how you're doing.'

Liam bit his lip. 'I can ring – '

'No phones for at least two weeks,' the older man reminded him tersely. 'Nothing strenuous or stimulating. Bed rest, Payne. I'll book our flights back to London once you're capable of travel.'

'Yes, sir,' whispered Liam. 'I'm sorry.'

With one last unreadable, hooded look at him, Yaser stepped out. Liam let out a huge breath, slumping down on the edge of the bed. He stared down at his left arm cradled in the sling and twitched his fingers experimentally. An ache went through the injured muscles. 'Fuck,' Liam muttered and he bit down on the thumbnail of his other hand. 'Bloody hell.'

He couldn't believe what had happened. Liam knew he was probably the talk of Melbourne Park right now but he could care less about that; he'd had his fair share of press in the past. It was Zayn he was thinking of with a horrible feeling lodging in his ribs.

There was a quiet knock on the door before it opened. A gently smiling nurse pushed a wheelchair inside. ‘Ready to go, Mr Payne?’

'I don't need it, I can walk.' Liam's eyebrows knotted as he stood up, only to sag back down with a groan when the room spun.

The nurse pursed her lips. 'Hospital policy, I'm afraid, sir.'

Liam very unwillingly sank down on the wheelchair, feeling foolish as he propped up his feet on the footrests. His entire body hurt, most of all his pounding head, and he just wanted to have a lie down somewhere quiet and dark, but Liam didn't want the others to see him hurting in any way when it was _his_ cock-up that was the reason.

The nurse wheeled him out of the room and down the white corridor. 'You've got a rather worried lot waiting for you,' she said conversationally.

'Yeah, I gave them quite I scare, I reckon,' said Liam with a sigh. 'Lost the match, too. All my fault.'

The nurse made a gentle sound. 'There'll be other opportunities. Besides, I don't think they care about that right now. Your young man – sorry, I don't follow tennis much but my husband does; he is your young man, isn't he? – was rather vocal in his insistence to come with you.'

A tiny smile tugged Liam's mouth up. 'Zayn. Yeah, sorry, he can be a bit, ah, much.'

Another nurse in white passed them by, carrying equipment that Liam didn't _want_ to think about. Hospitals freaked him out but it was Zayn who hated them fervently, having spent a significant amount of time in them after he’d broken his leg when he’d been sixteen. Liam could only imagine how the other boy was feeling now. If their places had been switched, Liam would be sick with worry, sidelined outside while Zayn was prodded by doctors.

'Much, yes,' the nurse murmured in amusement. 'He didn't seem to care about the game, only wanted to stay with you and make sure you were alright. Ah look, see, he's been talking to Dr Carter all this time.'

They pushed past the double doors to the waiting area, and Liam's gaze was instantly drawn to where Zayn was nodding and listening intently to whatever the doctor was telling him. He had a determined look on his face, and when he spotted Liam in his wheelchair, pale and all bandaged up, his eyes widened before turning absolutely fierce with protectiveness. Liam stifled a groan: he sometimes forgot how intensely Zayn could fuss when given a reason.

Zayn strode towards Liam before anybody else could get to him. His hands reached out but then stopped, unable to rake through Liam's hair like they usually did, and Liam caught his fingers with his undamaged hand, squeezing gently in response to the vulnerable twist of Zayn's lips.

'I'm fine,' Liam told him.

'Are you utterly sure?' asked Zayn, eyes critically checking him over. He was staring at Liam as if he expected him to drop over dead any second. 'You could stay in hospital if you want.'

The nurse smiled warmly at Zayn. 'I'm certain Mr Payne would rather go back to the hotel with you than spend an unnecessary night in hospital.'

'Definitely,' said Liam quickly. 'I can tell you've already bothered the staff enough, Zayn.'

Zayn narrowed his eyes. 'Liam – '

'Oh give it a rest, Zayn,' Doniya piped up as she approached them and kissed Liam's cheek. She smirked at her younger brother. 'There, see, you should have done that instead of interrogating poor Liam. You are feeling alright, aren't you?'

'Right as rain. Well, except for my epic headache.'

'That’d be the concussion,' said Paul, touching Liam's shoulder. 'And your mum's absolutely furious, by the way. Said she'll have words with you once you get home.'

Liam was downright scared when he heard that. His mother was going to kill him.

'On the other hand,' said Doniya cheerily, 'our mum's going to lavish so much affection on you it'll balance everything out.'

When the laughter died down, Dr Carter came over. He listed all the things Liam could and couldn’t do, what signs to look out for if complications should happen, and the reminder to take it easy for the next few weeks.  Zayn held Liam's good hand tightly all the while. The doctor ended with an amused, 'However, I'm sure Mr Malik here has got everything memorised.'

Joe, their trainer, sniggered. 'Liam'll be a prisoner instead of a patient, more like.'

Zayn glared at him and made a rude gesture. Doniya hit him on the back of his head. ‘Oi,’ Zayn muttered indignantly.

The doctor smirked and shook hands with Paul before he left. Liam glanced at his team and bit his lip. He opened his mouth.

'Save it,' their physio said. 'Don't apologise. Not your fault.'

'It was,' protested Liam. His head tipped down guiltily.

'Liam,' said Joe, 'shut up. It's fine. The important thing is you're alright.'

Liam peered at Zayn, who nodded his head somberly.

'I'm still sorry,' Liam blurted out.

 

-

 

(40-A) (Set point #2)

 

Liam tried to keep an upbeat front but Zayn wasn't fooled. He could see how Liam's hands shook, how he winced at bright lights and loud noises, how he would close his eyes now and then when his headache overwhelmed him. Zayn kept a protective grip on Liam's waist the entire time and urged Liam to rest his head on Zayn's shoulder during the ride back to the hotel. Zayn's fingers slipped under his shirt and closed around a bare hip, needing the reassurance of warm skin under his palm. Anxiety was still making his heart beat a little too fast and Zayn carefully nosed through the tops of Liam's hair. The sun-and-sweat smell clung to the strands but Zayn didn't mind. It was a familiar scent.

Liam was half-asleep by the time they reached the hotel. There were players and tourists loitering in the lobby and they came over with sympathetic apologies and questions, but Paul firmly led the two to the lifts, leaving Yaser and their manager to handle everything else.

'We're almost there,' Zayn whispered to the other boy who was draped over him. Liam gave him a wobbly smile, eyes blurry with the effects of painkillers and exhausted pain. Zayn's chest ached.

Paul helped Zayn undress Liam down to his boxers and get settled on the bed. 'You've got everything sorted here, Zayn?' Paul asked as he surveyed the room.

Zayn nodded, eyes trained on Liam's huddled form on the bed. 'Yeah, I can handle him.'

'Of course you can,' Paul murmured. 'You okay?'

'I'm just worried about Liam.'

'Not what I meant.'

Zayn looked at the older man who'd become a second father over the years. 'I am disappointed,' admitted Zayn with a shrug. His gaze wandered back to the other boy. 'But it's nothing compared to how relieved I am that he's alright, you know?'

'We all are.' Paul clapped Zayn on the shoulder. 'I'll keep the others away for tonight. Ah, here, almost forgot.' He handed Zayn their mobiles. 'I reckon half of those are from Tommo and Niall.'

'Thanks,' said Zayn. 'Good luck keeping those two away.'

Paul chuckled. 'I'll tell them Liam's been advised against anything loud for a few days.' With a nod, and a fond, 'You rest too, lad,' Paul left the room, locking the door behind him.

Zayn opened his mobile and scrolled through the text messages in his inbox. Most of them were from family and friends back home and the rest from other players who wanted to know how Liam was doing. He sent Louis, Niall, and, as an afterthought, Harry a collective _He's a bit concussed but otherwise good. Back at the hotel now. Needs a lot of QUIET and sleep._

Then he tweeted the same thing to their fans. Zayn put his mobile on vibrate, changed his mind, and switched off both devices instead. He put them on the coffee table and after checking on Liam, headed towards the bathroom for a long shower. He let the warm spray wash away the sweat and concern. When his skin was wrinkled and raw, Zayn shut off the shower, dried himself, and tugged on his pants. He found a small towel and soaked it under the tap, wringing out the excess water.

Zayn switched on one of the mood lights by the door, dipping the rest of the room in shadows. He climbed on the bed, mindful not to jostle the sleeping boy. He wiped Liam down with the towel, attention lingering on the scrapes and bruises on his side, fingers ghosting across his bandaged forehead. There was a knot between Liam's eyebrows and Zayn covered the creases with his thumb. Zayn swallowed thickly.

'Hey.'

Zayn looked down at Liam through his tears. 'You're supposed to be asleep,' he said in a rough tone. He dropped the towel on the floor.

'I'm sorry,' said Liam, his voice wavering. He tugged on Zayn's wrist. 'I hate it when you cry, Zed.'

With a muffled sound, Zayn carefully settled down beside the other boy, tucking his face into the curve of Liam's neck, one arm stretched low across his abdomen to grip Liam's unmarred hip with desperate fingers.

'Baby – '

'They wouldn't let me in,' mumbled Zayn, eyes closed, recalling how angry and agitated he'd been when they had taken Liam away for scans and tests. Liam had been out of Zayn’s sight for _hours_. 'Said I had to be family, as if I fucking wasn't. Then they let Paul and Dad in, and I had to _wait_ , Li, to know if you were alright or – ' He sucked in a shaky breath, tears slipping from underneath his lashes. 'Don't do that again, okay? You fucking scared the shit out of me.'

'I'm so sorry,' said Liam with a sniff, kissing the top of Zayn's head. 'Really sorry, awfully sorry, stupidly sorry. For everything.'

'Not family, just a boyfriend,' Zayn grumbled and he let out his frustration by sucking a faint bruise – one that didn't make his gut clench with distress because it was _his_ – on Liam's shoulder. 'I'd have bought you a ring right then and there.'

Liam hid his dopey smile in Zayn's messy hair. They lay in silence for a while, listening to the other breathe. Zayn dragged his hand from Liam's hip up to trace a finger on the edge of the sling, then gently grasped Liam's forefinger. 'Do you hurt a lot?' he asked worriedly.

'A bit,' Liam said, 'but the meds are kicking in. Feel dizzy, mostly.'

'Sleep then.'

'I reckon I'll be sleeping loads,' said Liam with a note of resigned humour in his voice. He breathed out, ruffling the hair on top of Zayn’s head. 'You know, we're back in our room. You can ask me.'

Zayn drew circles on Liam's chest. 'We haven't had sex, though. I suppose there won't be for a while.'

'I could suck you off tomorrow?' suggested Liam.

'I was joking,' said Zayn with a muffled chuckle. He propped himself up on an elbow, peering at Liam with a sad quirk of his lips. 'Li, I know what Dad said to you – ever since the Olympics, _Christ_ , you should have told me.' He cupped the side of Liam's face and stroked his cheekbone. ‘I should have guessed, really.’

Liam's eyes went wide. 'How? I thought – ' He tried to sit up but Zayn scowled and kept him down.

'Dad told me when you went in for the CT Scan.' Zayn snorted angrily and pushed his fringe to the side. 'I can't believe he said you should leave so I can focus on my Singles career. He had no _right_ – '

'Zayn, he's our coach – '

Zayn's dark eyes pinned Liam down. 'No right, Liam. Yeah, he's our coach, he's my sodding father, but you're _my_ partner, _my_ boyfriend, _my_ best friend. He shouldn't have assumed I'd want to split up our team to play by myself.' Zayn shook his head and kissed Liam softly, licking at his parted lips. 'He never understood that I was lonely and hated playing by myself. With you, it's fun, brilliant, and I'm never bored. I wouldn’t give that up for all the trophies, Singles or Doubles, in the world.'

Liam gave him a subdued version of his usual grin, eyes still crinkled at the corners. Then they grew big with dread. Zayn had to laugh because that look was always adorable, and with the bandage wrapped around his forehead, tufts of brown curls standing on end, it also made Liam look just a bit heartbreaking.

'What did you say to your dad?'

Zayn snogged him again, fingers curling around a collarbone. 'I told him to fuck off. '

'Zayn!'

'I was in a highly tense situation, Liam,' defended Zayn. 'I was furious with him, telling me this was the chance to leave when you were in _hospital_ having your head checked, bastard.' Zayn took a deep, calming breath and met Liam's gaze squarely. 'Now come on, _you_ explain to me why you didn't say anything.'

Liam frowned up at him for a few more seconds as he worried his lower lip. Then he said, 'At first because he's your dad, you know? I didn't want you to be angry with him. You always get so defensive when your dad so much as looks at me the wrong way. Then I started thinking and, well, you know Doubles players haven't got the recognision Singles players do, and you deserve everything, Zayn.'

'Bollocks to that!' Zayn burst out crossly and the other boy laughed, shaking his head on the pillow. Then he groaned, blinking fuzzily up at Zayn.

'Head hurts.'

'I told you to sleep,' Zayn admonished. 'We'll sort out this thing with Dad when you're up for it.' He reached for the duvet and dragged it over both of them, up to their shoulders. He snuggled into Liam's warmth. 'Tomorrow you will not leave this bed for anything other than the loo, yeah?'

'Kinky,' mumbled Liam as he closed his eyes.

Zayn smiled tenderly at him and made sure not to touch any of the cuts on Liam's side. 'Love you, Liam.'

'Love you,' echoed Liam, voice slipping away with sleep. After a minute, he spoke up again, fingers of his right hand seeking out Zayn's own. 'Hey Zayn, remember when we were sixteen and I went to train in France?'

'Worst year of my life,' Zayn murmured, lost in memories tugged out by Liam's quiet, hazy voice. Long grey memories.

'Mmm. I missed you so much and I thought about going home every single day, because tennis wasn't fun anymore without you around either. Then I learnt that you broke your leg and I just had to come back to you. That's when I knew.'

Zayn listened as Liam's voice trailed off, his chest rising and falling with every calm breath. He knew the seed of worry in the pit of his stomach wasn't going anywhere until Liam was completely healed, on his feet, and playing next to him again, but at least Zayn could sleep curled around the other boy tonight. Zayn closed his eyes and savoured the feeling of having Liam close, reassuringly alive and still _his_. Zayn kissed the heel of Liam's palm and placed their entwined hands on top of his chest.

 

-

 

(40-40)

 

'Look who's out of his bat cave!' Niall said in greeting, slapping Zayn's shoulder.

Zayn sniffed and tugged on the lapels of his varsity jacket as he sat down beside Niall. He smiled at Louis' parents up front when they turned to him. 'I'm not Batman,' he said.

'Well, we haven't seen you come out of your room for three days,' said Harry with a smirk. 'If we didn't know Liam had a head injury then we'd be very, very suspicious.'

Niall scoffed. 'Trust me, Hazza, you'd know if Li and Zayn were having stupid amounts of sex. Zayn's pretty smug afterwards – no subtlety at all.’ He added, leering, ‘And limping, _both_ of them.’

Zayn tipped his shades down his nose to give Niall an arch look. ‘Subtlety, huh? I'm not the one who shouts and yells like a pissed twat on St Patrick's Day when shagging some random chick. _Oh oh oh baby girl, yeah, give it to me, yeah, that’s it baaaaaby_. Classy.’

'Oi, I'm a gentleman,' said Niall indignantly above Harry’s guffaw, ‘not some bad porn actor.’ He was grinning, though; it was great to see Zayn so relaxed, shoulders loose, after nearly a week of him tightly wound from whatever his fight with Liam had been about. That had _not_ been fun and Niall had a newfound appreciation for Liam whenever Zayn got that dark thundercloud above his head. It was tough work keeping Zayn from flipping his shit.

Harry peered at Zayn from around Niall. 'How's Li doing?'

Zayn leant against the back of the seat, ankle crossed over his knee. 'Pouting since he's not allowed to watch telly yet. No mobile or laptop either.'

'Poor Liam,' laughed Harry, 'on total media blackout. I’m surprised you’re here, though, and not in your room smothering him with kisses and soup. You make a great wife, Zayn. I’m surprised.’

Niall smirked and answered for his friend. ‘Liam threatened to make him sleep on the sofa, where, uh, what were Li’s exact words again? Oh yeah – “you can’t watch me sleep like some creeper because I am _not_ suddenly going to die in the middle of the night, Zayn. Now go and watch Lou’s game and when you come back you better tell me everything that happened.” Liam’s awesome.’

Harry gave Niall a one-armed hug. ‘I can’t believe you repeated that verbatim. You’re the awesome one, Niall.’

Niall batted his eyelashes. ‘You think so, Haz?’

‘Of course! You should be the one taking care of Liam, not Mr Grouchy Pants over here.’

Zayn scowled and refused to rise to their teasing, asking instead, _'Anyway_ , is Cowell with Louis? It's going to be one bloody tough match. Andy did really well against Federer.'

As Harry and Zayn talked about the quarterfinals that saw Murray through to play against Louis, Niall couldn't help watching them out of the corner of his eye. He knew about the thing with Louis and Harry – not that he understood any of it because it was Louis and Harry bitching at each other one second and then pining the next – and Niall was sure that Zayn, and Liam too, probably, knew about Harry's feelings – old feelings? – for Liam. But Harry and Zayn were talking normally at the moment, acting like good friends, and Zayn was showing none of the moodiness from that night at the pub.

Niall shook his head. No point in dwelling on it; it was perplexing as hell. Niall needed to find new friends who were thick as shit and not the complicated lot he had now. He was just glad Zayn and Liam had sorted it out. He turned his focus to Louis, who was undoubtedly fighting a giant ball of nerves right now. He'd never come this far in Australia before and if he could just beat Murray – then Djokovic –

'Hope Lou's not drowning himself in the toilet,' muttered Niall.

'Come on, we ought to stay positive,' said Zayn brightly.

Niall and Harry stared at him.

Zayn pushed his glasses up to his hair and rolled his eyes. 'Liam made me promise to say that one. Lou's undoubtedly on his way to the airport by now.'

Harry snickered. 'For a second there I thought you were concussed yourself!'

‘Oh you’re a right laugh, you are, Styles,' said Zayn, casually flipping him off. Harry threw a stuffed tennis ball at him and it bounced off his quiff. It would have been all out war – with Niall in the middle, too mature to join in on their shit – when the speakers crackled. The announcer called out the players from from the tunnel and it was game time.

 

-

 

(40-A) (Set point #3)

 

There was a cold, strong wind blowing across the wide gaping maw of Rod Laver Arena and thousands of people whistled and applauded as the anticipation built up. It wasn't a problem for Louis who was used to playing in gusty conditions back in England, where the wind was the third opponent in court. Cowell's words of encouragement lingered in the back of his mind as he unzipped his jacket and grabbed one of the racquets out of his bag. _Say what you want about the man – smug bastard, obnoxious wanker, all flash no substance – but he gives great advice,_ thought Louis with a glance at his player's box. He paused when he caught sight of Zayn-sans-Liam, waggling his fingers at Louis, and of Harry. The curly-haired boy shot him a wide grin and made a gesture that could've been for good luck or meant he was hungry. Louis felt the rush of fondness he'd been feeling more and more for him lately. They'd been spending a lot of time together ever since Liam's, and subsequently Zayn's, quarantine to their hotel room. Niall had been around too, but sometimes he'd leave them alone to chat up some lovely and random Aussie girl.

Honestly, Harry wasn't his type at all: too wild, too chirpy, too much of a smart arse but Louis fancied him anyway. He could appreciate the other boy's humour, cockiness, and sheer energy (Harry could keep up with Louis, which a grand total of no one has been able to do before; even _Novak_ couldn't handle prolonged exposure to Louis). He just wasn't sure if he wanted to go there with Harry who was proving to be a good mate.

 _Focus, Lou,_ he told himself sternly as they started the warm up. Andy Murray was on the other side of the court, face unreadable as always. Louis had mad respect for the man and it was always a bloody mountain of a challenge playing against him. Actually, Murray looked like a mountain compared to Louis too.

'Time. Murray first to serve.'

Louis hopped on his feet, swaying from side to side as he stared at Andy. He pulled his hat low over his brow. The sun was just lowering behind the massive court and the myriad of Australian, British, and Scottish flags fluttered in the wind.

Louis was feeling confident and anxious at the same time. His ankle hadn't bothered him so far yet, not even during the marathon match with Tsonga the other day, but he couldn't help the awareness on that area of his body every time he moved. He still mentally flinched whenever he recalled how his foot had turned on the clay court, the pain overwhelming everything else, and the arduous months of rehabilitation and no tennis that had followed.

But Louis wasn't completely negative about his chances. He'd beat Andy before and he might do it again tonight, even if their head to head stat, as the pundits enjoyed pointing out, was largely in favour of the Scot; those experts did love their stats and history. Those things lost their meaning out on court, though, when all Louis thought about was getting the next shot in, trying to make Andy run for it (the bugger refused to let the ball get away from him), having a blast despite how everything fucking _hurt_ by the time the fourth set rolled in.

Louis guzzled down his drink, tore open and nibbled on an energy bar, and let out a huge breath. He stared blankly at the blue-coloured court, mind whirling with ideas and thoughts and that one wide forehand by mere fucking _centimetres_ that had given Andy the third set during the tiebreak (and Andy had an atrocious record when it came to tiebreaks.)

_Come on Louis, focus, focus! You can do this. Just run after the ball. Hit the forehand. Volley here – YES! Deuce. One more point and it's 3-all. Come on, don't give up. Niall's going to be gutted if you lose. Shit double fault. Backhand down the line. Fuck Murray, that was a brilliant crosscourt pass you stubborn sod. God my legs hurt these stupid long rallies. What? The hell that was out! Come on Lou, you can do this, your ankle's fine, come on, come on. One more ball – and another – and another point –_

When Andy was finally serving out the match, Louis was mentally and physically wrecked. He blinked rapidly to keep an eye on the ball as it was thrown up – damn, he still couldn't read Andy's ball toss – and his body jerked to the left as the ball slammed down on the T-line, his racquet too late.

'15-love.'

They switched corners. Andy dribbled. Louis took a deep breath. Serve. Return. Net.

'30-love.'

Switched again. Louis rocked on his heels. Andy swung up. Serve. Another bloody ace.

'40-love.'

'Match point, Murray!' someone screamed from the crowd and he was immediately shushed by the umpire.

 _Yeah, thanks, that's really helpful_ , thought Louis bitingly. He shook his head and spun his racquet in his hands. His heart raced, his lungs locked down on the inhale, his muscles cramped. He didn't have anything left, really, and when Andy caught Louis' shaky return with a crisp and clinical forehand winner down the line, he had to sigh in relief that it was over at last.

Nearly four hours of gruelling tennis and Louis came through without a slip or fall, his wrapped ankle still good. That was something, at least.

Andy gave him a one-armed hugged at the net, said, 'You played great, Tommo. Really well, you should be proud.'

Louis grinned tiredly. 'Yeah, you were better, though. Bloody hell, Muzza. Congratulations. Kick Nole's arse, yeah?'

Andy wore a crooked grin as he shook the umpire's hand. Louis did the same and collapsed on his bench, head tilted back, blinking away tears; he was shattered. With an enormous exhale, Louis scrubbed both palms over his face, took off his hat and threw it, his drinks, and his racquets into the bag, zipped it up, and did his walk of defeat back into the locker room with his chin held high and an extravagant bow amidst heartfelt applause because he was Louis Fucking Tomlinson.

When Louis saw Niall (and the rest of his team, but really, he only saw his best friend), he dropped his stuff on the floor and wrapped Niall in a fierce hug before bursting into tears.

'I'm sorry I'm all sweaty and emotional,' apologised Louis through his tears, voice wobbly, his face pressed into Niall's shoulder.

Niall held on to him tightly. 'Shut up, you git. You were brilliant out there.'

'Lost, though,' Louis sniffed and dropped tears all over the blond's shirt.

Fingers ran through his soaked hair. 'There's the French, and Wimbledon, and US. Other matches. How's your ankle?'

Louis pulled back and wriggled his foot. 'Still alright, no pain or anything.'

Niall smiled at him, confident and reassuring, and it was the smile reserved just for Louis that had got Louis through some of the toughest times of his life. 'Good, I was worried you'd do a Rafa and be injured all the time.'

'That's so mean,' Louis had to giggle with a tiny hiccup. He dragged the backs of his hands across his eyes. 'Bollocks,' he mumbled. Louis had promised himself he wouldn't cry.

'Lou!' There was the squeak of trainers and his Mum came running at him. She threw her arms around her son's neck. 'Oh love, you've been so brave!'

'Mum!' Louis muttered, embarrassed, but clutched at her desperately all the same.

Cowell stepped inside the locker room a moment later. Niall made a face behind him as he stopped in front of Louis, who pulled away from his mother.

There was an expectant silence as Cowell stared at Louis.

'We'll be more prepared for the next tournament,' said Cowell with a light touch to Louis' shoulder, sounding almost kind. 'Go on, wash up. You have an interview in a few minutes.'

'Then we drown your sorrows in the Dynamic Duo's room,' Niall mouthed at Louis with a wink and smile.

 

-

 

(Game)

 

Louis stared up at the stars, elbows propped on the balcony railing and feet crossed at the ankles. The beer he'd been nursing for the past hour was almost empty, maybe an inch or two of liquid left, and he swirled it around, fingers loosely gripping the bottleneck. The breeze lifted his fringe from his forehead. Louis sighed and tilted his head back even more. His muscles ached in a pleasant, distant way; in a few more hours it’ll start hurting like fuck.

He heard the balcony door sliding open and shut. Louis brought the bottle to his lips and took a sip. A few strands tickled the corner of his mouth and he pushed them away.

'Hair's getting really long,' came Harry's voice, quiet and laidback. 'I remember it being rather short during last year's French.'

Louis fingered a strand. 'Yeah, I'll probably get it cut next week or something. Seems a shame, though.'

'It's pretty,' agreed Harry.

Louis lowered his head and offered him a small smile. 'Just like yours, Haz.'

Harry glanced up as he wrapped a curl round his finger and tugged. 'It's got a mind of its own, I tell you. God gave my hair free will to grow however it pleases.'

'I love it,' admitted Louis, his eyes tracing the dark curls that formed a halo on top of Harry's head. 'Makes me want to run my hands through them.' _Again_.

A blush dusted Harry's cheeks and he cleared his throat. 'Yeah, I guess.' He brought up his Heineken and laughed under his breath. 'I'm surprised Li let me drink. He probably had a heart attack whenever Zayn got pissed when they’d been teenagers. Liam's one of a kind, eh?' He ducked his head a little. 'He sees me as a little kid most of the time.'

Something piercing went through Louis at the sight of Harry's curling lips. _Talking about Liam again. Always Liam._ 'You are a kid, Harry.'

The other boy shrugged. 'I'll be eighteen this year. Just, what, five years younger than you?'

Louis bit down on his tongue. Harry looked like he wanted to say something too but shook his head instead, coming to stand next to Louis. They were so close their arms brushed.

They were quiet for a while, staring inside the room through the glass doors. Niall was glued to the television, watching a replay of the Premier League and shoving chips into his mouth. Zayn and Liam were cuddled on the sofa, lost in their own world, murmuring and smiling and kissing. They looked so happy and in love even after all this time and Louis was sincerely glad for them, but also a little envious.

'They're my favourite love story,' said Louis, indicating Liam and Zayn with a nod of his head. 'I'm not built for relationships but it makes me want something like that. They make it look so easy.' He laughed wryly. 'Most players I know are in stable, long-term relationships; what's with that?'

Harry cocked his head sideways to peer at Louis. His eyes were very green even in the dim light. 'I don't know. I've never been in one before.'

Louis made a face. 'The longest relationship I've had that's lasted up till now is with Niall. It's kind of sad. That’s what happens when you sleep around, I suppose, like you said.'

A stricken look came over Harry's face and he turned to Louis. 'I _am_ sorry about that. I was just mad, Lou. I didn't mean it.'

'Nah, you did, but it's okay, Haz. And I should say sorry too, yeah? I was a right git for saying shit things to you. I'm sorry, Harry.'

Harry worried his lower lip and placed his fingers on Louis' arm. They were warm and slightly rough, and Louis wanted to thread their fingers together to see if they fit well. Louis' eyes roamed all over Harry's lovely face, from the way his eyebrows were pinched together to how his mouth looked plump and red.

'I like Liam a lot,' said Harry carefully and Louis blinked because the words hurt, 'he's great, but it's mostly just friendship now. I've never once thought I'd have a chance because Liam and Zayn are sort of like a ridiculous fairy tale, you know?' He held Louis' gaze and licked his lips nervously, eyes earnest. He tentatively reached down and ran his fingers over Louis' knuckles. 'I like you, Louis, even if you are confusing as fuck. I want to take you out to dinner, to a film, to the theatre, to the circus if I have to, and then go home and sleep with you. Not shag – actually, that too - but just lie down beside you in the same bed. Then I want to do those things all over again the next day, and the next, and, well, you get the idea. I want to make you smile for real. I want to play tennis with you. I want to hold your hand and kiss you all the time. I want something like those two have.' He hooked his forefinger under Louis'. His cheeks were burning. 'If you’ll let me.'

By the time Harry stopped talking, Louis' heart was pounding and a hot blush had taken over his face. He couldn't believe Harry had said those things to him with a straight face; he looked like he meant every word. ‘Big talk for a kid,’ he whispered huskily.

There was the urge to crack a joke, smirk, tease Harry; pat the other boy's cheek and say, 'Sorry, love, daddy's a rolling stone.'

'All my relationships end badly,' said Louis instead, in a very helpless way; a reluctant warning. His eyes dropped to their hands and Harry slowly entwined their fingers. 'And you're a friend of my best friends, Harry. You've become _my_ friend too. I don't want to risk it. It was just supposed to be for one night.'

Harry shook his head, jaw tightening in determination. He pressed closer and grasped Louis' chin. 'It's a chance I'm willing to take because I really, really like you, even if you were a dick the first time we met. The second time too. You'll probably be a git a lot of the time.'

A smile curved Louis' lips and something loosened in his chest. 'Is this you trying to seduce me? Because it's crap.'

Harry smirked, dimples showing. Louis loved the sight of them. 'Is it working, though?'

'Nope.' Louis stuck out his chin. 'You have to wine and dine me, Styles. I'm a top ten player. Can't just go out with anyone who asks me.'

Harry brought their hands up and kissed the back of Louis' knuckles. 'I can afford to buy you Nando's for now. The posh restaurants will have to wait until I turn pro and win everything.'

'No, that's unacceptable!' cried Louis. 'Take me to The Fat Duck.'

'God, you're impossible.' Harry rolled his eyes and tugged Louis towards him until their noses brushed. 'You're lucky you're pretty.'

'I'll have you know – '

Harry kissed him, stemming the flow of words, and Louis instantly melted. They were so caught up in the warmth of each other's mouths that they nearly dropped their beers.

Louis gasped out a laugh and pressed their foreheads together. Harry grinned widely at him, took Louis' bottle, and placed both on the floor.

'Great kiss,' said Louis a tad breathlessly. 'You were good with your hips too, if I recall correctly.'

'I'm a man of many talents,' Harry murmured and connected their mouths again. Louis hummed and curled his arms round the younger boy's neck, licking his way past Harry's teeth.

Inside, Niall let out a hugely relieved, ' _Finally.'_

He turned to grin at Liam and Zayn but they were gone. The door to their room was firmly shut. Niall heard a giggle and a playful, ‘Stop it, Zayn’, and he slapped his forehead. 'Christ, I need a girlfriend. It sucks being the only straight single man in this sport,' mumbled Niall with a giant eye roll at Van Persie who was charging down the field at Old Trafford. 'They'll be insufferable from now on. I should have gone to a football club instead. What do you say, huh, Fergie? Oh fuck, GOAL!’

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've never actually seen anyone wipe out in real life the way Liam did in this story, although Li Na came close in her final against Azarenka, and I was just, 'IS LIFE IMITATING ART SORT OF? OMG ANDY/RAFA NOW OK' even if I totally adore Andy and Kim Sears. 
> 
> Ziam stop messing with my plot bunnies, they're already multiplying like mad! 
> 
> Also, feedback is love <3


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